


Now, Yesterday And Tomorrow  (If There Is A Tomorrow)

by Otaku6337



Series: Now, Yesterday and Tomorrow (Harry/Severus) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursleys, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, House Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Lots of UST, M/M, Magical Realism, Magical Tattoos, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Not in Hogwarts, Occlumency, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Pretty mild though, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slow Burn, Sorry Love, Telepathy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), battle tactics too, but its slow burn, cause we all know that was ignored in canon and my harry suffers, he gets his redemption arc and then we like him again, i fricking love magical theory, i guess, if any occurs it’ll either be way later or in an adjacent work I think, is a better description for it, jkr should've expanded so much more on the magic, like seriously lady what the hell, like siblings not lovers please and thank you, lots of magical theory, of every kind, probably a bit beyond it too, sev will look after you though. eventually, snarry, there's swearing because i wanted realism, very canon non-compliant, well for a start sev and harry get together, where's the tag for the wizarding war????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 67,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otaku6337/pseuds/Otaku6337
Summary: The War is in full swing. And Harry Potter is stuck in Grimmauld Place with no godfather and too many other people. Plus the Order's a mess, Dumbledore's dead, Harry's angrier than a house-elf with no chores and Snape's the only thing keeping him sane.So cue the emotions, angst, character deaths, tattoos and a rebellious Harry who sometimes gets it right.Poor Severus is just pulled along for the ride. Damn that impertinent brat that is the Boy-Who-Lived.





	1. Propositions With Conditions.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> So this is my first fanfic on AO3, and my first HP fanfic fullstop. Yep, it's Snarry; yep, there's rude language; hopefully nobody's too OOC or anything. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> PS: ₰ symbols surround any Parseltongue - it will also be in bold and italics ₰

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just a quick note:
> 
> This is set, technically, during Harry's Seventh Year, starting the summer before. However, their Sixth Year went rather differently, with Voldemort not Marking Draco just yet, and Dumbles only dying from the cursed Horcrux, rather than by Sev's hand. Enjoy!

 

Harry sat there, at the kitchen table of his dead godfather’s house, itching to pace, to scream, to hex people. To do something. Then Remus joined his voice to the many already shouting and it was suddenly all too much.

“SHUT UP! Just bloody fucking shut up –ALL OF YOU!” Harry was on his feet, roaring with an accidental **sonorous** charm, his allies and friends silent and staring, frozen, around him,  
_“Why_ are you fighting? Dumbledore’s dead and we’re in the middle of a war. We have no fucking time to breathe, let alone greave. So get on with it already: pick a new leader. Vote, nominate, whatever. Just don’t waste time arguing over stupid, stupid, _stupid_ things when we’ve got a bloody war to win. Do you hear me? ‘Cause Voldemort’s never going to die at this rate. Nor will any Death Eaters. But Muggles and children and adults alike will. So get on with everything that needs to be done, nothing more, and certainly nothing less,” the final word was spat, prompting him to take a deep calming breath; forcing down the cynical vitriol searing its way like bile up his throat.

"Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to train. Send me a Patronus if you _actually_ decide anything.” And with those curt parting words, the Boy-Who-Lived swept out of the room, headed Merlin knew where.

 

 

Without anyone else even noticing – shocked as they were – a certain Severus Snape followed him.

 

“Potter. Mr. Potter- Harry. Wait a moment if you please.”

“What is it Snape?” Already a floor above the dining room, the young man turned to the Potions Master, no longer visibly angry or hostile, but rather tired. No, exhausted. That was the only word for the haunted eyes, deep black bags and general air of world-weariness.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” A single, cynical eyebrow was raised. But there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes. The older man hadn’t realised Harry was capable of such a … Slytherin expression.

“Indeed. May we speak privately in the library?”

“Sure,” the teen replied easily, gesturing up the stairs. With a nod of acquiescence, Severus began to follow his retreating figure.

 

 

“So,” Harry began once they’d settled themselves in plush leather chesterfield armchairs,  
“What’s this proposition then?”

“I should… like to train you.” An eyebrow yet again rose, but the teen made no move to interrupt.

“Primarily in Defence, Occlumency and strategy, amongst other things. And at least rudimentary field Healing."

 

 

“Po- Harry, you are not strong enough,” and here he held up a hand in both apology and warning, forestalling the angry outburst,

“Not due to any particular fault of your own, I will admit, but rather that you have rarely – if ever – been sufficiently trained in Defence. And we have already discussed and progressed in Occlumency-” This last fact was true. Within a month of starting his Sixth Year, Potter had ambushed Snape, apologising for invading his privacy and for the behaviour of his father, godfather and their friends. The boy had been sincere, and they’d talked for a short time over the matter. Then initiated a re-do in his training.

“Do you see my point?” There were a few moments thoughtful silence before he nodded slowly in reply.

“Thank you sir. I do have one condition though-”

“Potter! You’re in no position-!”

“Call me Harry please. Not Potter, not Mr. Potter, not Boy. Just Harry.” Severus sighed deeply, relaxing into his seat once more,  
“Fine. I suppose I could suffer through the indignity and manage to call you by your given appellation.”

“I suppose you could.” A cheeky grin accompanied the light teasing, but the Potions Master could only bring himself to scowl half—heartedly. The damn brat could tell.

“C’mon Sir, let’s go and start training now! It’s what I said I’d be doing after all.”

 

 

Smirking, Severus stood up but gestured for the younger man to stay as he was. Within a few moments, he had gathered five appropriate texts and dropped them on the side-table next to Harry.

“Read these. I’ll be here tomorrow to discuss their contents with you and - provided you understand them sufficiently - practice some of what you’ve learnt.” The teenager opened his mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut again. Severus resisted the urge to laugh or sneer. Likely the latter.

“Yes Sir.” And with the confirmation, the man strode from the room. Time to see if those imbeciles had managed to piece together anything like a sensible idea.

 

 

Ah. No, evidently still imbecilic. Beyond it in fact.

“Mr. Potter managed to get us to discuss things realistically, he’s clearly capable of banding us together. Of leading us. And we can advise him as needs be on matters of strategy and such.”

“Well, yes. And he’s the perfect figurehead to be seen-”

“What nonsense are you idiots spouting?! A teenage boy taking Dumbledore’s place?!” Snape interrupted, storming towards the table.

“Severu-”

“NO!” he thundered,  
“That boy has _too much_ responsibility already. And does he know enough to lead the Order? Truly? Because he’s already been left a task by Dumbledore. Between that and a prophecy, isn’t that enough for one child? Even one as mature as he can be?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were complimenting me Sir.” Somehow, Potter had snuck into the room without the notice of any of its inhabitants. A book was held lightly at his side, resting against his thigh.

“Don’t read too much into things Po- Harry. Though what I said was true.”

“And I agree,” he turned his focus to the room as a whole,

“I find it difficult to believe I’m the best choice available. I’m 16. I might have the most experience with Voldemort himself, but I’m definitely not the best dueller or the most seasoned. My strategy is terrible. I’m not the most rational when it comes to protecting my friends. And with my… task, plus training, I don’t even really have all that much time spare.” A compelling, well-thought out, comprehensive argument. The Potions Master couldn’t help but be impressed; he secretly rather thought Harry would make a good leader. Albeit in a year or two. In addition to intensive training. Possibly.

 

“All of that might be true Harry, but it doesn’t mean you’re not the best candidate.”

“Mr. Weasley, that means a lot. But surely you or Moody or someone would be a better leader. I’d suggest McGonagall, Snape or Kingsley, but they obviously all have… prior engagements. And Remus has his furry little problem, so…” And again, a strong case. Maybe the teenager really was growing more mature.

 

“I’m a fighter, boy. Not a leader. Politics and debate and all that nonsense aren’t for me,” Moody interjected, a grimace pulling at his scars. Mr. Weasley’s expression wasn’t all that dissimilar,

“I wouldn’t be able to order my children into battle. And no proper leader can’t direct his… troops.”

“I can accept that. But it hardly means I should take the role, does it?” And there was an almost petulant, whiny tinge to the last words, but they didn’t detract from the overall sentiment. The Boy-Who-Lived did not want to lead the Order.

 

“This is getting nowhere any time soon. Why don’t we leave that for a later time? For now, what are we doing about Hogwarts? We need new Transfiguration and DADA professors. Any recommendations?” Minerva interjected, cutting off any full arguments before they could begin. And as the conversation switched to topics he didn’t really care for, Harry retreated to the library once more. With a sigh, Severus resigned himself and sat down at the end of the table. He couldn’t escape this one. A pity.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update this once a fortnight for a month or two, then move it back somewhat, I expect, if only due to exams, sorting out college, and wanting to keep ahead (in content) of my own posting. Although I'm posting Chapter 2 today as well.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Otaku6337. Xx


	2. Impressions And Understandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry surprises Severus and keeps on surprising him. It's quickly becoming obvious that the true Harry is hidden behind many masks and that his secrets are even more numerous than those.

 

 

It was half past six in the morning when Severus flooed into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. To his surprise, Harry was already seated – well, slumped – at the table, all five books he’d been given the previous evening piled haphazardly beside him. Strewn across the table were various pieces of parchment and Muggle note paper, all written on in ball point. Several other tomes – namely sequels to the original five – lay open amongst the papers. One was beneath the teen’s cheek, glasses indenting slightly on both flesh and parchment. Harry was breathing heavily, rapidly, unevenly, in his sleep. Unseen green eyes roved under their lids. Fingers twitched in panic, clutching at an imaginary wand perhaps.

 

 

The sight was somewhat frightening.

 

 

“Potter? Potter?” The word, though softly spoken, seemed to distress the sleeping teen further as his eyes screwed up further and he began to mutter unintelligible syllables.

“…Harry then. Harry, you need to wake up now. Harry.” His tone melted into something coaxing and cajoling both. A brand of Snape fondness even – caring yet mocking. Why was hiding his emotions so difficult around this one brat?

 

 

Approaching him, Severus reached out so as to shake Harry’s shoulder. But as soon as he was within a metre, the younger man abruptly jumped away, eyes flying open, brandishing empty air. And toppled off his chair.

 

 

“Harry, it’s okay. Harry, it was a dream. Harry. Can you hear me? Are you listening?” There was no reply as the teenager stumbled to his feet, swaying as though on a storm-ridden ship, swiping a violently shaking hand down his face, heedless of the glasses knocked to the floor with the movement.

“Harry?” Severus tried again, allowing a distinct note of concern to escape. Glassy green eyes rose to meet his. Fighting the rushing torrent of images and - ~~_darkness closing in as the small door slammed shut_~~ \- emotions from the boy, the man - ~~_“Kill the spare!” “No! Not Harry!” cold, cold laughter_~~ \- stepped forward and shepherded – ~~_such grief, such loss, such anger, such hopelessness_ ~~\- him back to his chair. And sat himself down in the next one. Even as their eye contact was broken, the nightmares- No, the memories, played themselves over again and again. If Har- Potter had managed to keep the majority of these hidden during their many Occlumency lessons across the last two years, he had been quite accomplished already. If only by natural instinct.

 

 

“Harry, are you well?”

“Yes- I- No-” The young wizard paused, sucked in a deep breath. He opened clear, though shadowed, eyes.

“I’m fine, thank you. What time is it?”

“Nearly seven.”

“Ah. I’d better clean up a bit. Molly will be down soon.” With narrowed eyes, Severus scrutinised the teen. Clearly, he was still shaken-up – his trembling told of that – but overall, a vast improvement from only moments ago.

“Indeed,” the man paused for a moment, thin lips pursing, “May I assist?”

“Thanks.”

 

 

During the following silence, Severus scanned over the scribbled notes as he stacked them into piles. As a general rule, they were actually insightful observations and intelligent questions; accompanied by a few rather mad ideas that might somehow work. It reminded Severus of his own experiments into charm-creation.

“Where would you like them all?”

“Oh, just put them in that,” the teenager replied, gesturing to a leather book bag by his side, not unlike the standard Hogwarts satchel. Carefully dropping them in, the man couldn’t escape noticing how, allowed by the extending charms, there were pyramids of tomes inside the deceptive bag, littered with scraps of muggle and magical stationary alike. It was a veritable library.

 

 

“Is this yours?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I was under the impression that Granger was the know-it-all of your group,” the man sneered.

“Think about it. In comparison to Hermione, it’s near impossible to appear interested in books, let alone a bookworm. Particularly if you’re simultaneously trying to maintain a façade and keep your projects secret, or at least private.”

“Ah… I suppose I can see your difficulty there.” The teenager snorted at that and swept the last book on top of a pile, prompting the entire lot to tumble.

“Oops. Oh well.” This time the Potions Master was the one to snort and smirk.

“I assume that’s not the first time that’s happened?”

“You know what they say Sir, to assume makes an ass out of you and me. Though in this case you’d be right.” For a moment they both froze, realising that the younger had just sworn and casually teased the professor simultaneously. Then they began moving about once more. Severus dumped – admittedly somewhat carefully – the satchel against the wall and Harry began to set up for breakfast. And yet again shocked the man.

 

 

“Where did you learn to cook?”

“Hm? Oh,” Harry looked up from where he was simultaneously frying eggs and placing multiple trays of sausages, bacon and bread under the grill. Movements could now be heard from upstairs.

“I cooked at the Dursleys. Have done for y-” He caught himself, sighed, and rubbed a hand across bloodshot eyes. Severus ignored his evident lapse. Although he did file the half-statement away for later pondering as he placed several heaps of crockery and jars of condiments on the table.

 

 

Just as the first eggs, bacon and toast were plattered up on the table and Harry returned to the stove, Molly bustled into the kitchen, closely followed by Lupin, Granger and the youngest Weasley boy. Severus restrained an irritated sigh and took a seat as far from them as possible.

“Thank you, Harry dear, but you really needn’t have-”

“It’s fine Mrs. Weasley-”

“Molly please.”

“-I was up anyway.” Five people frowned at his words. And Ronald glared at the professor as though it was somehow all his fault. The green-eyed teenager merely kept his attention on the food he was still cooking. _Apparently_ unaware.

 

 

Not even ten minutes on all but two places at the long kitchen table were occupied and breakfast was being consumed at worryingly fast paces. Several amiable conversations were being held. Little was spoken of serious matters, with the Order apparently in cheerful moods that morning. And whilst Severus observed Ha- Potter interacting with his friends, the boy seemed distant, only speaking enough for it to seem as though he was a natural part of the conversation, rather than distracted as he obviously was to the well-trained eye. Because the spy could see the slight tremor to Harry’s arms. How his eyes were glassy and dull behind the lenses. Apparently he was over-tired, not to mention in some kind of pain. It gave Severus further worri- theories as to the boy’s life.

 

 

 

Severus settled himself into a library armchair with a long sigh, fighting the urge to pinch his nose. A house full of teenagers and foolhardy Order members. What was a man to do? Well, get a headache was the most obvious – and evidenced – answer. However, the slight creak of another chair stopped him from showing quite so much of his internal process.

“Sir…?”

“Po- Harry. Get your-“ He paused, taking in a calming breath with a soft whoosh of air, “Would you care to get your books and notes back out?”

“My notes?”

“Yes, boy, your notes.” Another thing to file away: Harry flinched at the appellation ‘boy’. Or had it been his harsh tone? Regardless, the teenager fished out a dozen books and three full handfuls of notes. Spreading them out on the coffee table between them, Severus again scrutinised the titles and scrawled scenarios. Then one thing in particular prodded the man’s interest.

 

 

“You’ve mentioned banishing the soul, in all its parts, and defying blood connections. How does that correlate to the Unforgivables?”

“If I’m Vold-”

“Don’t use that name in my presence!” The Potions Master thundered, left arm twitching.

“There’s no point fearing- Oh.” Harry suddenly seemed to realise what the slight flinch had meant, return anger immediately dissipating, “I… sorry. Right, anyway. I think – no, I know it, the evidence is overwhelming – that Vol- His soul is separated into several sealed pieces. And as His supposed equal, it isn’t unfeasible that He too can undermine the Killing Curse’s power now, particularly as He has my blood.”

“To my understanding, it was your mother’s sacrifice and love that allowed-”

“How can an emotion defy something so total? Some ancient magic perhaps, but not pure love. And my mother wasn’t the only witch to ever feel enough love to sacrifice herself. No matter how much I wish I could believe that; that it was true. Dumbledore was a wise man, but some of his ideas…”

Resisting the urge to comment on the clinical tone of the younger man, Severus agreed, “He was a fool. A most intelligent fool.” At this they both cracked weary half-smiles. Which quickly became shock at the realisation of what the elder had just done. Then Harry just shook his head and started back on track.

 

 

“The point is, as He now shares my blood, I fear that any protection against the Killing Curse I have He also shares. It’s not a chance I can take. This is war and I won’t, can’t, risk losing it.” Fighting back his shock – at the maturity, at the determination, at the resignation – Severus nodded and moved the conversation on.

 

 

“Alright. And what’s this potion?” he inquired, pulling several sheets of paper detailing alternative theories for a brew that seemed to target the nervous system and mental faculties.

“A long-term Anti-Cruciatus. For people like Neville’s parents. I’m not sure how effective it would be in terms of their… well, you know, being kinda insane. But if I finished it then it should mitigate the lasting physical effects at the very least.” And it took all of Severus’ willpower not to simply gape at that. A sixteen-year-old had come up with a potion that could restore people from such prolonged Cruciatus? Admittedly, it was an incomplete theory and it might not even work, but… Taking several long minutes, the Potions Master scrutinised every detail of the suggested brew – the theory and base concept; the rough ingredients list, made almost illegible by the sheer number of corrections and additions and side-by-side possibilities. It was fascinating and looked sound.

 

 

“This looks like it should actually work. Harry, it’s…” He trailed off, not quite certain of what to say.

“You think so?” The teenager’s tone was near-ecstatic regardless. Bright, shining eyes locked onto the elder’s, sending a rush of hope through Severus that wasn’t his own. Fighting away the foreign feelings, he nodded.

“The foundation seems correct. I’d discount one or two of your variations almost immediately… but there’s promise here. Definitely something to develop further.” And dammit if that wasn’t worryingly close to a compliment. Severus would have to watch himself.

 

 


	3. Spats Lead To Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry isn't as in control as anybody wants him to be, and sometimes it shows. But in his calmer moments he can think and reflect, promptly freaking himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't resist posting at least one more chapter. Some more interesting stuff this time around!

 

Attempting to beat down his bewildered but flattered flush, Harry cleared his throat and moved the conversation away from things he’d done. Compliments were… bizarre at best. Mortifying at worst.

“Yeh, well, it’s only an idea. Might not work.”

“Maybe not,” Severus conceded, “But considering the general standard of your classwork, I would not have expected such theoretical prowess from yourself.” And Merlin-damned, another back-handed compliment. Not that the young man saw it as such this time.

“It’s not my fault that Malfoy and his stupid sidekicks keep dropping random stuff into my potions!” Harry burst out, rocketing to his feet. After the pleasantness of their recent interactions, the dig at his classwork was shocking. Hurtful even.

“They do what?!” At the angry shout, Harry shrunk back a little, green eyes wide, frustration draining away in an instant. Now they were both on their feet.

“N-nothing Sir. Sorry Sir,” came the too-quick reply. But, caught up in righteous indignation, the elder scarcely registered the fact.

“That’s unacceptable! How dare they?! The idiots perhaps, but I had thought the Malfoy boy to know better.” Again, he failed to notice Harry’s reaction as the teenager visibly flinched at the word ‘boy’ and even retreated a few steps during the short tirade. He was just out of arm’s reach now.

 

It wasn’t until Severus stopped muttering to himself, cursing moronic students, that he glanced at Harry and registered the distance that had been placed between them. Furthermore, the resignation and apprehension that could be found in the tension of his figure, the tightness of his jaw and the crinkle between his brows. Harry was… scared. But how to deal with that?

 

“I… I apologise for the rant. I am simply irritated by the foolishness of my Slytherins. Shall we return to what you looked at last night?” Severus gracefully lowered himself back into his seat with the words, now below Harry.

“O-okay. I- I’m j-just gonna go to the l-loo quickly.” And the boy rushed out before receiving a reply. Slumping back into his seat, Severus sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. At least the situation hadn’t escalated any further.

 

Meanwhile, Harry had scarpered into the bathroom, shutting the door as softly as possible before sagging against the wood. The subtle grains provided a welcome grounding against his fingertips. God, why did it take so little to send his mind back to being a scrawny five year old at his relatives’ mercy? Cursing himself, Harry wobbled over to the basin and, discarding his glasses carelessly on the countertop, splashed icy rivulets down his face, struggling to tamp down on his emotions. He needed… He needed to focus on his training. On the war and on Voldemort. He didn’t have the time or headspace for stupid, stupid hangovers from his childhood. A mere two weeks or so would see Harry seventeen and free of those disgusting pigs forever. Until then, he just had to prioritise. Right. Training was first. And to learn more magic, to master it, he had to get back to Snape and get on with it.

 

Having patted his face down with a hand-towel and relocated his glasses, Harry made his way back down the corridor into the library. They had work to do.

 

“Moving on from Potions, how did you find the books I gave you?”

“They- I’m fairly sure I understood most of it…” The pair spent the next two hours debating the theoretical spells and their possible applications. Despite everything, they rapidly found themselves utterly enraptured by the conversation. And as they talked, Harry found that his insecurities, whilst they didn’t magically disappear, did become incredibly insignificant. His mind was not filled with regrets and fears and self-recriminations but rather with nothing but the man beside him and the words that flowed between them. It was a curious phenomenon. Because truthfully? Harry hadn’t felt this at ease… ever. Not in his memory at least.

 

It wasn’t until deep into that night when Harry dared to ponder upon such matters. Nearly an hour of Occlumentic meditation had calmed him, tamed the beasts of doubt, fear and anger, affording Harry a clarity that he typically lacked by evening. So now was the best time to think about difficult things. Case in point: how did he view Severus?

 

Well, his respect for the man was nothing less than exponential. Across the last year or so, ever since their Occlumency re-do in his Sixth Year, Harry had gained an appreciation for the great lengths and pains the Potions Master went to in aid of the war effort. And, of course, Harry’s own continued survival. It had taken a massive blow-up between them, wherein the elder named every single time that he’d saved Harry’s life, and the younger listed a variety of Severus’ harshest insults and actions, for them to truly reach a truce. An alliance. They’d both been ignorant fools: cruel and judgemental, rash and acerbic. Drawing a line beneath that hadn’t been easy, but they seemed to be managing it up to now.

 

And that led neatly onto Harry’s gratitude, of a sort, for those many times his life had been saved. For every lie Severus told that protected the Order, or truth that fed them information. He couldn’t even begin to fully comprehend the dangers of Severus’ life, yet the man continued to act in the most altruistic manner for such a misanthrope. Spending years of his life safeguarding and saving the child of his bully and pseudo-sister. Working for the Light side who held little trust for him whilst playing the Dark side who tortured him. It wasn’t even a balancing act, it was a fucking merry-go-round of pain and lies, guilt and curses, and never a moment’s peace. No wonder the man was so very sour.

 

And what terrified Harry was what might happen when Severus was finally found out. It was inevitable, surely. No matter how good the man was at what he did, nothing went on forever. Particularly not something so delicately balanced as his position. What if the Dark Lord found out and led Severus into a trap? He would undoubtedly be tortured first – Cruciatus, blood-boiling, cutting curses, Merlin knew what else – then killed. And likely not with the quick relief of an Avada Kedavra. Oh no, Harry knew Voldemort better than that. It would be a slow thing, Severus’ death, drawn-out beyond all reason, unflinching and unending in the agony it wrought. Then the body. Merlin, the body – what would happen to it? Would it be sent back to them perhaps, bloody and unrecognisable? Or would it be sent somewhere public – the Ministry, or Hogwarts – to be flaunted? Or maybe just left to rot somewhere, no proper burial or recognition, just a lump of decomposing flesh laid to rot, not to rest.  
Harry wasn’t sure which option was worse.

 

He wanted Severus to survive, he realised. He didn’t want the man to die. No matter how inevitable it seemed right now, Harry didn’t want Severus to die. He wanted this brave, harsh, horrible man to live.  
He wanted to keep on talking about Defence strategies. He wanted to start Duelling practice until neither of them could win. Hell, he wanted to continue discussing experimental potions ideas.

 

Harry wanted.

 

And with that odd realisation, he allowed himself to fall into sleep.

 


	4. Explosions Of Emotions and Magicks Both

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions explode, there's some angst, and we get a hint of just how powerful Harry and Severus can be. And Severus gets some revelations of his own.

 

 

Harry’s daily routine was finally beginning to settle now, around two weeks into the summer holiday. He would wake up early, somewhere between five and half-six, and immediately drag himself from the warm covers. He knew from bitter experience that allowing himself to wallow nary did any good and that if he left himself the chance to do so then he would regret it for the rest of the day. No, instead he would rush through his ablutions and having successfully ignored his scars, head downstairs to begin breakfast. Nobody else was up yet. Thus it was all the easier for him to eat the minimum of some toast and either sausages or mushrooms before casting stasis charms on the platters for everyone else and retracing his earlier path but instead to the library.

 

 

His mornings were spent in theoretical research. He devoured tome after tome, many Dark in the truest sense of the word, hoping to understand what he was fighting. To understand Voldemort. How Tom Riddle, far from innocent but human all the same, could become such a twisted abomination. And ways to combat that. The Black library was the forbidden fruit for less-than-Light Magicks and Harry dedicated many an hour to drowning himself in the sweet juices of Grey spells. Hexes and curses and even rituals that were immoral, dangerous, but not so much so as to be illegal. He merely remembered the worst, the ones that could drain little pieces of magic and life force from those around him, but the spells that fed off himself or the victim? Those, he learned. With a bibliophilic voracity that others would’ve thought odd for the young man, Harry learned.

 

 

Because if it saved even a single life, Harry would use these spells.

 

 

And in the afternoon, he often practiced doing so. The attic of Grimmauld Place was a cavernous, airy space, impossibly gloomy considering the skylights and sufficient, if not quite ideal, for individual duelling practice. On the two or three days a week Severus could not come to train with the boy, Harry instead transfigured dummies and destroyed them. Again and again and again.

 

But, in comparison, when Severus was at Grimmauld Place, their time was inevitably spent together. Occlumentic meditation, scouring books, debating tactics. The occasional spat did occur though and their blow-ups were phenomenal. Phenomenally catastrophic.

 

 

When Severus sneered over Harry’s Gryffindor tendencies after the younger had gone through a rough night, his already-short temper went up in sparks and scorch marks.

“At least I’m not some Death Eater!” _Fuck_ , why did he say that?

“Didn’t stop you getting your parents killed-!” _Shit_. Severus hadn’t meant that.

“Oh, that was _my_ fault was it? I forget, who told Voldemort about the prophecy again? It wasn’t a baby, that’s for sure. But it might have been a twisted, bitter coward.” They were both too far gone to stop. And now the books of the library were rattling in their places, shivering with eerie sounds of shuffling paper.

“How _dare_ yo-” Severus was stopped by some magical vice, clamping his jaw shut so abruptly that he bit on his own tongue. Bitter-iron blood filled his mouth.

₰ **_SSSSIIILEEENNCCCCCCEEEE_** ₰ The hiss echoed through the house. Parseltongue was well-suited to malice and fury, dripping with venom as though spoken with true fangs, harsh in its violent sibilance, contemptuous and nothing short of lethal in the first unknown syllable. Petrifying. The gaze of a righteous basilisk given audial form.

 

 

Without Harry or Severus’ knowledge, the backlash of their conflict swept through the house, freezing people in their places. Only able to hear the furious voices and feel the vibrations of unadulterated magic. Raw, Grey-White with splashes of oily midnight-Black. Every candle guttered and dimmed, a sort of fog inexplicably pervading the house. And no matter how they struggled, Grimmauld’s other inhabitants couldn’t move. They could only remain, suspended, and listen to the sparse words they could hear, shuddering under the suffocating blanket of furious Magicks.

 

 

“You will listen to me, and listen well. I suffered because of your actions. And the actions of many others. _I_ suffered, not them. I ₰ ** _SSSSSUUUFFFFFEEEEEEEERREDD_** ₰

Harry had slipped into Parseltongue once again, vitriol thick in the swirling magic. And Severus halted for a moment. Because there was a raw, pure intensity and pain – such pain – behind the slick hissing. That was the kind of pain that came from long-endured suffering of the cruellest kinds. Severus should know.

“Harry-” he choked out, forcing his way past the wild magic previously holding him mute,

“Did they- You- I- My father-”

 

 

Everything stopped.

 

 

Bodies fell to the ground, the force of Harry’s will fluctuating, the fog cleared in an instant, bright candle-light burning away the greasy darkness that had overtaken the house. Severus himself stumbled, alarmed at the sudden emptiness of the room.

 

 

Everything exploded.

 

 

With a single anguished cry, wordless in fury and helplessness, Harry’s magic rebounded back into the house with all the force of a meteor. Objects and people were carelessly thrown into the walls surrounding them, which in turn shuddered and creaked, threatening to give way under the aimless onslaught. And Harry collapsed. 

 

 

It was later that evening that Severus roused to find himself in a bedroom, tucked into covers a little carelessly. A gentle snoring pervaded the room. Ah, it was only Potter...  
Harry!

 

 

Pushing himself into a sitting position, heedless of the vague aches that the movement brought to life, the man turned towards the sleeping teenager. He had- Surely not- No. Harry Potter _had_ been abused. That was undeniable. Nobody could fake that level of dejection and resignation, all wrapped up in a pretty little package of hurt rage. Few situations would concoct that particular mix of emotions, and long-term, systematic abuse was one of them. Severus should know.

 

 

Falling back onto his pillow, Severus allowed himself to sink into his thoughts. If Harry had been abused, then that meant that Albus had either been oblivious – unlikely – careless – also unlikely – or had known and dismissed it. Now that was possible, as much as the Potions Master hated to acknowledge it. Abuse would, in the majority of cases, make a victim more vulnerable, more malleable. If shown the tiniest shred of kindness and trust, they would often follow the giver to the ends of the world. And what had Dumbledore shown Harry but grandfatherly care, sage, cryptic wisdom and miles of faith? He’d wanted the Boy Wonder to follow him blindly, to be the perfect Saviour for the sake of the Wizarding World.

 

 

Now, Severus was no fool. He had lived through the first war, even if partially as an uninvolved teenager. He knew what war did. He knew that there was little chance, little hope, of Harry surviving _this_ war. Not with the way a target had been painted upon his back in neon lights and foghorns. But dammit, the boy deserved a chance.

 

 

Severus would give Harry that chance, even if it killed him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> Firstly, I just want to give an absolutely massive 'thank you' to everybody who has been reading this, it means a hell of a lot to me.  
> Secondly, I hope the formatting of the chapters has been okay, I'm not at all used to AO3 as a writer!  
> Thirdly, updates are going to be continuing at once a fortnight, just because I want to keep my un-posted content at least a few chapters ahead of my actual posted stuff.
> 
> Thanks again, hope you enjoy the rest of this, and I love you all,  
> Otaku6337.


	5. The Consequences Of Convictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus starts on his plan to keep Harry alive through this war. Ron and Hermione get a little insight to what Harry's up to.

 

 

“We shall be covering rudimentary Healing for at least the next week. I trust you have no issues with this?”

“I mean- No? But weren’t we half way through the rituals and Voldie-theories?” Harry’s confusion was more than evident. Understandable if irrelevant, dismissed Severus.

“Yes, but we need to ensure you’ll survive. It’s far more important right now.”

“That’s not that imp- Oh, yeah, the prophecy.”

“Indeed.” Severus paused for a moment then: Harry had phrased that very peculiarly.

 

 

“Wait. Harry, brat, look at me a moment,” the man paused until he had the young man’s gaze locked with his own, “You do understand that you have your own significance, yes? One beyond the farce of ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and the prophecy.” His voice was forceful, trying to hide the delicate, almost fragile undertone to his thoughts and words.

“Of- of course I do.”

“No. You don’t.” It was a simple statement, flat with disbelief. Even horror.

“I do! I- I’m just not as important as-” Harry stopped himself abruptly, flushing a little, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Harry-”

“No! …No. If we have to, we can-” he took a deep, shaky breath, “We can talk about this some other time, okay?” Severus hesitated, unable to simply accept this.

 _“Okay?”_ The younger was glaring with too much fear in his eyes to be convincing. Dammit.

“Very well. But we _shall_ be discussing this Harry. It’s important; _you_ are important.”

“Yeah, yeah. What are we starting with?” This casual dismissal of, well, himself, grated on the elder even more than the bravado, but he would leave it be. At least for now.

 

 

“So, wait a second… This spell doesn’t work in less you give the patient a… corresponding potion just before casting?”

“Yes. Essentially, the spell activates the ‘dormant’ potion and allows it to take on an exaggerated effect. As such, this methodology of healing is, whilst also taking longer to have an impact, more effective long-term. Additionally, it aids in triggering the body’s natural healing factor.”

“Then why does, say, Madame Pomfrey, normally just cast a bunch of spells? Is this only for longer-term illnesses?”

“Sometimes. In the majority of cases, utilising the ‘double trigger’ is for severe cases, often illnesses, yes. I’m sure you can understand that to choose this method for a patient who is, for example, rapidly bleeding out, or vomiting constantly, isn’t entirely practical, at least initially. However, once the potion is unlikely to be thrown up, and/or the patient shouldn’t be dying within the next half-hour, this is a highly useful treatment.”

“Does Pomfrey ever use it then?”

“Rather. In fact, I believe she’s done this for you a number of times. In your First Year, certainly. And undoubtedly other instances too.”

“Huh.” Harry slumped back in his seat.

“Alright Potter?”

“Harry,” the brat corrected thoughtlessly.

“Harry,” was repeated, sarcasm dripping from the single word. The teenager just sniggered. Impertinent brat.

 

 

“D’you r- Would you mind if we took a break please?”

“As it’s-” the elder checked the grandfather clock, “half eleven, I see no reason not to take an early lunch.”

“Thanks.” As they stood and left the library, Severus was struck by the realisation that Harry had summarily distracted him. Hm.

 

 

“Harry!”

“Hey,” came the reply from the teen as Ron bounded over to him, swinging an arm around his shoulders. Only Severus took note of the flinch it caused.

“So mate, wanna make us some lunch?”

“Sure, anything in particular?” Interesting, there wasn’t any hesitance about that, despite the skill’s origins.

“Something with meat in it!” Hermione and Harry laughed at the ginger’s enthusiasm.

“Would you mind it being something warm Harry?” the girl interjected, rubbing her arms, “It’s particularly chilly here today.”

“Course Mione. Might take a little longer though. Unless…” And now Harry drifted away from them to stick his head into the tall cupboard that was charmed to act like a Muggle refrigerator.

 

 

“Would you be willing to put up with some quizzing whilst you cook?”

“Oi! Leave hi- OW!” Severus and Harry both ignored the redhead being hissed at by Granger, continuing their conversation.

“Only if you would dice some carrots, onions and butternut squash for me. About a centimetre cubed please. And onions first.” A chopping board was being brandished in the elder’s face, a knife and veg already on the side next to him.

“Very well,” Severus smirked. Trust Potter to avoid what work he could, he teased in his head.

 

 

As the two settled into cooking and cutting respectively, Harry pre-frying some chicken with a little garlic, butter and herbs, soon adding in Severus’ immaculately chopped onions, the Potions Master began to ask him about the material they’d just discussed. Neither really registered how much attention they’d garnered from the other two in the room.  
“… the three principles of a ‘double trigger’ treatment?”

“Preparation: having the correct materials, potion pre-brewed and intonation fully correct. Then Performance: dosing the patient with said potion and casting the spell. Third is Patience: observing the patient, checking that the potion and spell have interacted at all, let alone correctly. And the fourth, which you didn’t mention, is Post-care: following up with check-ups regularly, the possibility of second doses, any other spells or potions necessary being administered.”

“Fully correct. On every question. Who’d have thought it?” Harry snorted in return,

“’s not like you didn’t try to trip me up.”

“What kind of Slytherin would I be if I let you have it easy?”

“True, true. Pass over those veg? Thanks.” And now there was a large pot of chicken broth bubbling away on the stove.

 

 

“Give it about twenty minutes and those carrots should be cooked through, so the lot’ll be ready to eat, ‘kay guys?”

“Yeah… Mate?”

“Hm?” Harry glanced over at Ron from where he was washing utensils, up to his elbows in suds.

“When did you learn all that stuff?”

“Eh, just this morning. Why?”

“Dunno,” the redhead shrugged, hesitating, “Just surprised me is all. You were acting like Mione!”

“Ronald!” the girl in question admonished, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with taking an interest in your studies, even if they’re extra-curricular. Personally, I’m very proud of Harry for the obvious effort he’s expending into this-” Severus observed Harry snicker near-silently at that “-and hope that he maintains this for the next school year. Although I must ask,” and here she turned definitively to Harry, “I’ve never noticed you take up a book about Healing before. Is it a recent interest?”

 

 

Oddly carefully, feigning carelessness, Harry shrugged his shoulders in return, “Se- Professor Snape offered to tutor me a little on the subject and it seemed useful, so, uh, yeh.” Merlin, no wonder Severus had always dismissed the brat as incompetent, he didn’t half lower himself and his intellect around his peers.

 

 

As the delicious scent of the broth wafted through the room, Harry stood once more, grabbing down bowls from a nearby cupboard, beginning to ladle out portions, bread and condiments already on the table.

“Here you three go, say if we’re gonna run out of butter, I’m gonna shout everyone else down,” and with that Harry left, deliberately ignoring the awkward silence that immediately descended, broken only by the,

“LUNCH IS READY!” that echoed in through the open kitchen door. Severus simply dug into the delicious meal in front of him. Of course, his manners were impeccable, unlike the unbecoming rake of redhead chewing with his mouth open. Disgusting. Harry was far preferable, even if the damn boy needed to start eating thrice his current amount.

 

 

 


	6. Plans Versus Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Order Meeting is as frustrating as ever, albeit somewhat productive. Also unsurprisingly, Harry and Severus' private conversations hold a tense undertone.

“There’s an Order meeting today, isn’t there?” was the first thing to greet Severus upon Flooing into Grimmauld Place the next morning.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Sorry, sorry. Good morning, hope you slept well, there is a meeting, right?”

“Yes, there is. Brat. It’s at one o’clock, I believe.”

“Thanks. So, theory or practical today?”

“Something in between, I think.”

“…okay?” Severus resisted the urge to snort at the suspicious look on the teen’s face.

“Indeed. Come along now.”

 

 

“Thank you all, again, for meeting as requested. We have a few things on the agenda, so first of all: has there been any progress with recruiting further members? We cannot induct any of the remainder ‘in the know’, as it were. But, others?” McGonagall left the question hanging, clearly giving the floor to whomever were to take it.

 

 

“Well, there are definitely a few more Aurors we should consider. Nathaniel Brown, Tenko Kurasuma and Daniella Whitechurch have all been outspoken about wanting to do more towards getting rid of Him. Plus, they’re all good, strong people. Dani’s a whiz at human Transfiguration, very useful for disabling perps without damage.”

“Tonks is right with those three. They’re alright. Better than most at least, and probably the closest to safe to bring in,” Moody concurred, tone somewhat begrudging.

“Sounds excellent, though we’ll want to do our own background checks on top of the Auror’s. Anybody else?” Flitwick prompted.

“Well, Bill and Fleur – I’m sure you all remember her from The Tournament – are returning to Britain in two weeks and have said they’ll be helping with everything they can. Charlie is also coming back, we confirmed it with him last night, but it’ll have to wait until after breeding season, so that’s upwards of two or three months.”

“Well, that will be another five, hopefully, within the next month,” followed Mr Weasley’s words, McGonagall taking over once more, “Perhaps we may turn our attention to this year’s graduates? There’s some potential there, I believe.”

 

 

As the Order, or the teachers of them, really, began to talk over prospective members out of the sixty or so Hogwarts students who had just passed their NEWTs, Harry tuned out, thinking. Surely there were some more prominent figures, politically, who would at least ally themselves with the Order? Obviously not Scrimgeour, but there were other significant people…  
“What about Madame Bones? She’s in charge of the DMLE, isn’t she?”

“Well, yes. Why?” Tonks answered his sudden question.

“She would at least give her support, wouldn’t she? I remember her from my trial, I think. She was fair at the very least. And the Aurors have been more proactive than most departments regarding Voldemort, surely that must be at least a bit because of her?”

“You know, the boy’s actually making a good point,” Harry tried not to bristle at the ‘actually’, even as Moody supported him, “Amelia’s a good leader, good fighter. Made of stern stuff. ‘d be worth talking to the woman.”

“Very well. Mad-eye, would you mind being the one to approach her?” The gruff man simply grunted an affirmative, and conversation went on.

 

 

It wasn’t until late into that night, hours post-meeting, that Harry tentatively spoke up to Severus, green eyes glowing preternaturally in the candlelight,  
“Would any of the Slytherins be interested in spying for us? Like you do?” The Potions Master stiffened, a tension that now typically leached away whilst alone with Harry returning to his frame with whip-cord strength. Harry couldn’t help but flinch.

“Why do you ask?” The tone was careful, reserved. Not yet angry. And of course Harry grasped the deeper question behind that.

“You mean ‘who’, don’t you? I’m not too sure, but I reckon Malfoy – Draco that is – and probably some of the others would be willing to join us, in a sense, if we helped to get their families out and safe. We could do with other spies, in other layers of the ranks. People that genuinely want and need help. I know not all of them joined Voldey out of personal choice.”

“That is… true.” Still with that measured pace that just screamed reluctance; anger might have been preferable at this point. Almost.

“Well, um, don’t worry about it now. Just, maybe keep it in mind? Please?”

“Very well.”

Harry didn’t broach the topic again.

 

 

Loudly clearing his throat, Severus switched topics to something far more comfortable,  
“So may we review your _‘Constantiam animi corporisque’_ potion? I believe I may have procured some more research that will benefit us.”

“Yeah… yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Harry muttered, almost to himself, the burning of his ears beginning to fade. His bag flapped open at the other end of the library, several pages of familiar notes floating their way out. Yet, as Harry stood, seemingly unaware, they drifted naturally to the floor, whatever hold the teen’s magic had wrought falling away as his attention came to them. How peculiar.

“Wha-?” Harry mused.

“Did you not mean to summon them? Your magic was bringing them over to you.”

“I- what? Really?” And now the younger turned his disbelief to Severus.

“Well, yes. I presume you had not intended as such then?”

“No. I mean, my magic did feel kinda active, but it does that a lot, so…”

“Wandless, wordless magic. Accidental magic, even,” Severus raised a finger to his chin, thinking,

“And you said that your magic is frequently that active?”

“Yeah, if- If I’m emotional, or really deeply thinking, I guess. But I’ve never noticed it actually do something for me. Not like that at least.”

“Like what then?” An eyebrow was raised, more in curiosity than impatience.

“Oh, nothing- nothing much. Hardly worth mentioning, really.” Harry tittered a little, nerves and discomfort blatant. Now Severus was truly curious.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is,” the note of finality was exactly that: final. So the Potions Master let it go.

 

“Regardless, the potion?” At his prompting, Harry scrambled to collect up the scattered notes and Severus allowed himself to snort quietly, brushing his theories – not concerns, but theories – to one side. They could be considered another time.

 

 

 

\--------------------------------

 

 

 _‘Constantiam animi corporisque’ -_ Stability of mind and body – the anti-Cruciatus potion – meant to help counteract the trembling and fits, as well as ease the detrimental mental impacts, of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. Via combining ingredients with nerve regeneration, muscle strengthening, wit sharpening and sedative properties, this potion should aid in the recovery of patients from wards such as the Janus Thickey (see, St Mungos).

It would most likely be brewed in either a silver cauldron, or perhaps one of a gold-tin alloy, utilising a pure Tiger's Eye or Topaz stirring rod (the former alongside the alloy; the latter alongside the silver cauldron) . All paraphernalia should be aimed towards promoting mental and physical steadiness. In keeping with this, it must be primarily undisturbed, with long resting periods between ingredients. Brewing large batches is inadvisable, until the brewing process is finalised and practiced.

 Potential Ingredients: ginseng, ~~dandelion roots~~ , minimum of three passion flowers, leopard's bane leaves, ~~willow bark~~ , intestines of rosemary chaffinch, arctic fox whiskers, cured crow's eye, barn-owl's ~~liver~~ stomach...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little extract at the end of this chapter is an insight into some of my 'magical realism' and exploration of just how magic works in the HP universe. It won't be every chapter, but I will be trying to include these little snippets of theory from books and notes utilised by Harry and Severus, as well as explanations for any original spells and potions, such as this.
> 
> Thanks as always!  
> Otaku6337. Xx
> 
> PS: I took Latin at school, and got a grade A in it, but I haven't studied it in over a year, so there'll undoubtedly be some mistakes!


	7. Curses Clouding Up Dust.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little action is a good stress-reliever, unexpected as it may be.

 

Peering into the gloom of the basement staircase was only giving Severus a headache.

“ **Lumos** ,” he murmured, squinting for a moment.

 

The soft white-gold light pulsated into life, breathing shadows into what had been an utter abyss. Cracked, mould-ridden walls of mismatched stone, mirrored in both the floor and ceiling; the scent of decay and stale air pervading into the kitchen above. Good thing it was well-past breakfast time. Snorting internally at the somewhat questionable humour, Severus began his descent into the basement. Beneath his booted feet, oak steps creaked in complaint, not unlike the eerie sound of the Whomping Willow in the wind, wood almost grinding against itself. Rather unhappily so. Understandable really, considering how long it had undoubtedly been since any creature larger than a spider or rat had dared to traverse this part of the grim house. And what was Severus himself doing here? The fortunate man was attempting to find an appropriate place for duelling practice with the Brat-Who-Lived. Such fun.

 

 

“Well?” Speaking of the obnoxious, if surprisingly-un-aggravating, creature.

“I imagine it should suffice, so long as the floor is smoothed a little. And, of course, the worst of the dust cleared. It would not do to be sneezing our way through spells. Particularly not curses of this calibre.” The teen had the nerve laugh at that. Honestly. As though sneezing half-way through casting a blood-boiler would actually be funny. A colour-changer however…

 

Shaking off such meandering thoughts, Severus continued into the dank space, taking in every detail that his initial examination had skimmed. The cobwebs were more than lace in corners, but rather draperies joining the walls and ceiling to the floor, gravity-defying despite their massive size. And upon those webs scuttled midnight masses as large as a hand. Surely the spiders themselves. And, hidden behind layers of moon-cloud gauze, was something dark and gleaming. Something that glimmered, circular, a giant eye, green-black.

“What’s that?” Harry exclaimed at Severus’ back, sidling around him to get a better glimpse.

 

 

“Stay back, idiot brat! Have you learnt noth-!”

“I wasn’t going to touch it!” the indignation was tempered by the teen’s fascination for the… thing, “It’s hard to see it though, with the cobwebs in the way. Want me to cast a removal spell?”

Severus hesitated a moment, then nodded, “Very well.”

“ **Apage**!”

 

 

In an instant, a flash of green lashed out in return, headed for the pair. Just as quickly, two shield spells were cast. A violent explosion, like ink yet visibly sharp, splashed across the barriers, smashing the first but slowed enough to barely crack the second.

“Wha-” Now that the webs that had hidden the object were gone, the thing was fully revealed, in all of its debatable glory.

 

 

An oval of… glass, or perhaps even metal, burnished a green reminiscent of the Forbidden Forest, blinked at them. Blinked. For every second that they stood, wands ready, the concentric patterns of the object were shuttered, just for a fraction of a moment, before seeming to glow stronger yet again. Then the wall beneath the… eye was textured. Flaking and visibly dry, a burgundy-brown, blood that had been aged and never refreshed. Perhaps literally.

 

 

“ **Bombarda maxima**!” the hex spat out towards the object, providing an ethereal glow to the dim room.

 

Yet nothing exploded.

 

Then Severus and Harry were throwing themselves to the side, dodging a burst of returning white lights. And again and again and again. Shields were thrown up: shattered. Flagstones chipped and cracked. Bruises gained from harsh falls and slips. Blood spattered from scratches and gashes. Wide killing-curse eyes fell to Severus for a moment as they both hopelessly cast hexes and curses, jinxes and enchantments at the eye-thing.

“A spell-mirror?” came the breathless question, following the gaze, before both were yanked away to combat a particularly potent pale-purple hex.

“Most likely-” Severus conjured a shield, bones rattling with the force of whatever spell promptly hit it

“- On three, strongest disabling charm. One- Two- Three!”

A spiralling beam of neon pink shot towards the mirror, accompanied by a straight dash of crimson, dousing the room in a peculiar, ugly, too-bright mauve.

 

 

Silence reigned with darkness at its side.

 

 

“Is- Has it stopped?” panted Harry, sounding highly sceptical. Severus could relate.

“It would appear so.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” the teen grunted, before summoning his own wand-tip light. In the strong, revealing glow, Severus could see the sweat that gleamed along the younger’s forehead, and that reflected that which beaded his own brow.

“Rather.”

 

 

“…Well, what should we do with the thing then? I guess we can’t just chuck it out?”

“Most certainly not. No, we shall have to perform the specific spells for dealing with such artefacts. Then it can be discarded somewhere discreet. At least it doesn’t appear to bare the Black Family crest. That would have been more difficult.”

 

 

“Wait, couldn’t we just Vanish it?” Startled at the idiocy, Severus sneered at the boy,

“What on earth would possess you to think such a thing? Vanishing only works on non-enchanted material objects with a limited size, such as a glass of water or a sock. Certainly not a large, magic-infused mirror.”

“Huh,” came the initial unintelligent reply.

 

“So I could Vanish Dudley’s old clothes, but not my broom, or somebody else’s wand?”

“Precisely. Although you could Banish either of the latter. Did you not cover this with Filius in Charms?”

“If we did it in Fifth Year, which I think we did, then yes, but I hardly remember anything from that year. I was… a little preoccupied.”

“Ah yes. Your… ‘Defence Club’.”

“Not just that, thank you! Funnily enough, between a Blood Quill, Occlumency, and Voldie digging around my head, I had rather a lot going on, and retaining anything was a problem, even of my own research.”

“What, couldn’t think beyond three things at a time?”

“Shut it Snape! I was in constant pain, running on about four hours of sleep a night, if I was lucky, and had a little voice in the back of my head telling me to flip out and start killing people! Forgive me,” and his voice here dripped with something harsher than sarcasm, darker than fury, “if I did not remember every spell we covered in any classes.”

 

 

“I-” Severus forced himself to pause, to rein in his temper, to assess the bone-chilling tension that had pervaded the room.

“I apologise Harry. I spoke… too harshly.”

“Yeh. You did.” But with that, Harry too seemed to take a moment, grip on his wand loosening near-imperceptibly,

“Look, I jumped at you too, yeh? So sorry. Shall we sort out this bloody mirror?”

“…Indeed.”

 

 

For quite a while, until there were calls of lunch being ready in fact, the two worked in the basement: Severus casting a delicate series of disenchantments upon the artefact; Harry fixing and lighting the various torches around the room, before moving on to removing the layers of dust and evening out the floor somewhat. Having darted and twisted across its jagged excuse for smoothness once was more than enough. It had to change.

 

 

But renovating the rest of the room could wait until after they’d eaten something. Duelling – even if it was with some random cursed object – was tiring.

 

 

“Woah, what have you been up to mate?! Rolling in dust?” Ron laughed as he spotted his best friend coming up the stairs into the kitchen.

“Yeh, yeh. Laugh it up,” came the rudely muttered reply, even as the teen waved his wand to get rid of the white and grey particles caking his clothes and hair. Before fully entering the light of the ground floor, Severus preformed much the same spells on himself. No need for others to see that he had been in much the same state, if anything exacerbated by the severe contrast of his sullen black robes and hair. Yes, better to avoid giving the idiot-Weasley-brats too much ammunition. Far better.

 

 

“Oh Harry, Severus, whatever have you two been doing? You’re covered in scrapes!” Glancing at each other, they suddenly processed the fact that, yes, they were rather banged up. Really, you’d think they might have noticed previously.

“Nothing serious I believe. Simply the results of dealing with a spell-mirror,” Severus countered, hoping to avoid any potential coddling and admonishments.

“Still! You must-”

“ **Episkey** ,” the elder cut her off, waving his wand in repeated motions at Harry, then at himself, hardly bothering with re-encanting, instead keeping the flow of appropriate magic steady and focused. Thus, within the space of thirty or so seconds, all of their minor cuts and abrasions were gone, leaving only a few smears of red behind.

“Well, I suppose that should do,” sniffed Molly. Severus ignored her flustering and sat down at the lunch table, Harry soon following beside him. Silly woman. Even if Harry cared for her, it did not give her the right to act as his only carer. As though the brat needed one at this point; coddling the young man was more detrimental than anything else, truthfully. Severus should know.

 

 

 

\-------------------------------

 

 

 **Apage**! - lit. be gone /away /get out! - the minor removal spell. Accidentally discovered by a wizard upon trying to rid himself of an Acromantula nest, whom proceeded to banish all the webs but none of the spiders, this spell is proficient in removing all manner of small, tedious remains from pests (e.g. faeces, webs, crumbs). Accordingly, intone 'Ah-pah- _gey_ ' at the offending waste, and twirl your wand in a counter-clockwise half-circle. The last syllable ('gey') should be pronounced as the caster jabs their wand directly forward two inches, aimed at the target. This spell may require multiple castings if the targets are numerous.

(This spell will only affect larger matter if the caster possesses sufficient willpower and magical reserves, though attempts are not recommended unless one is highly certain of their personal experience and prowess.)

 

 

 

 _Spell Mirror_ - [spɛl ˈmɪrə] - an enchanted mirror, made originally of Goblin- or Dwarf-forged glass, though its ultimate physical properties are altered by the specific enchantments layered upon the individual piece. Typically, they are placed in entrance halls or conference rooms as a means of passive defence, being imbued with an absorption-and-return enchantment combination, often with a form of protective tether to the room or owner, wherein any perceived hostile spells will be taken in by the mirror and returned towards the initial caster. Dependent upon the quality of enchantment permeation, this return-fire may be of equal or greater volume and/or strength on comparison to the original curse. Within the last decade, spell mirrors have become licensed items, with only antique pieces remaining unregistered, despite some of the nasty additional charms that were traditionally included but are now excluded due to legality issues.

 

 

 

 


	8. Wired.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry does something stupid. Enough said.

 

 

“Hey Harry, wanna come play some chess or something?” Harry visibly startled at Ron’s question, turning away from Severus.

“Uh, sorry mate. Gotta do some training.” At the half-annoyed, half-dejected expression on the redhead’s face, he hastily added,  
“Maybe tonight, yeh? Around dinner time?” Grumbling under his breath, the other teenager just nodded before stomping away, flanked by Hermione and Ginny. In contrast, the twins simply ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately as they bounded out of the room, snickering at his offended squawk.

“Have fun Harrikins!” “Don’t work too hard!”

 

 

Trying hopelessly to flatten his unruly locks, Harry turned back towards Severus,  
“Sorry about that. They’re…” He trailed off, wincing, before shrugging apologetically and heading down the basement stairs once more. Severus followed, unsure whether to snicker or sneer at the immature antics of Harry’s friends. The twins at least, whilst menaces, did seem to comprehend the gravity of Harry’s daily position. Ronald however- well, the less said the better, for now.

 

 

“Hm, where to start? I suppose, Harry, you should tell me what you believe to be your most advanced defensive spells. It’s as good a place as any,” Severus nodded to himself. Yes, there was no point to allowing the brat to duel if he couldn’t keep himself alive first.

 

“Light, Grey or Dark?”

 

For a long moment, Severus stood, frozen.

“Dark?” he finally asked, the word a slow, disbelieving drawl. At the lurking fury, Harry shifted back a little, ducking his head. Yet his eyes gleamed a dark Avada Kedavra from beneath raven-midnight-tar bangs.

“Yes, Dark. I haven’t cast many, and only those without severe drains or addictive detriments. I know more than just that dozen or so though, theoretically.”

“And may I ask why?” Harry began to visibly bristle a little, but didn’t lash out,  
“ _‘Know thy enemy’_ , primarily. And, honestly Snape, I’m not above dirty tactics, dangerous tactics, if it keeps the innocent and the good alive. If it kills Him. Why should I be? I’m not some bloody Light paragon. The _Boy-Who-Lived_ is, sure, but I’m more than that. I’m the Freak, the Saviour, the friend, the enemy, the idiot, the one to blame. But I’ll still kill Voldemort, mark my words, by magic and blood and soul, I’ll kill him, if it’s all I ever achieve.” With his words, a deep, sonorous note rang out, like the clanging of a death knell, shaking the foundations of the house they were stood beneath, dust falling and swirling around Harry, sparking with green and gold.

 

 

“Harry-” But it was no use. With his wild magic and steadfast convictions, the idiot brat had entered into an unintentional magical oath, with Severus as witness and, it would appear, Magick herself as the bonder. Wonderful.

 

 

Swaying on the spot, Harry was breathing heavily. Seeing him about to fall, Severus rushed the few steps forward to catch the dunderhead.

“What were you thinking?!” But he received no reply as the young man instead sagged further into his too-tight grip, eyelids fluttering in vain.

“Stay awake you idiot brat! Potter!” Moaning softly, Harry forced his eyes wide with great effort.

“Mph. Sev’rus Snape,” the teen had the gall to giggle deliriously, grinning as though stumbling over a single name was some massive achievement,  
“Ssssev’rus. Soun’s li’e Parsselton’ue. ‘s niccce.”

“I’m glad you think so,” the Potions Master replied stiffly, turning the brat, then scooting him back a few metres, the skinny thing left leaning against a damp but relatively clean wall.

 

 

“I shall be back momentarily Harry, do try not to fall asleep before I return.” The brat simply murmured incoherently, causing Severus to sigh heavily before striding – no, he was not hurrying – back to the kitchen, only taking the steps two at a time due to his long legs of course.

 

 

Having gathered a damp cloth, a glass of cold pumpkin juice and some chocolate, along with informing the Weasley Matriarch of Harry’s potential absence from dinner, the man hastened to Harry’s side once more.

“Here,” he passed the teen the glass, forcefully curling the shaking hand around it,  
“Slowly now. Easy, easy,” he admonished, trying to stop the brat from spilling half the juice down his front. As the cup gradually emptied, Harry’s eyes began to focus more and more, eventually zeroing in on Severus’ own.

 

 

“Than’s,” he said, still a little slurred.

“Hn. Next time, I recommend you don’t try taking magically-binding oaths for fun, idiot brat.”

“Sorry. Didn’ mean to. My magi’s a li’l… wired. High-stru’. Does wha’ i’ li’es.”

“Rather like its wizard then.” The dry words elicited a snigger, green eyes crinkling adorably. Or not, thank you.

 

 

“Regardless, eat this.” Nudging the chocolate bar into Harry’s hand, Severus laid the damp cloth across the back of his neck, resisting the twitch of his own lips at the young man’s contented hum at the pleasantly cool sensation. Upon confirming to himself that the younger had the strength and mental capacity to actually eat the sugary treat, Severus settled back on his haunches, within a metre opposite Harry. At least he shouldn’t be falling asleep now, with that much sweet stuff flooding his system.  

 

 

However, at dinner that evening, Harry was obviously drifting off. Once or twice a minute, his head would start to sink, hair swaying, eyes drooping. Then, the twins or Ronald would shout or laugh raucously and Harry’s head would shoot up once more, eyes too-wide and startled.

“Harry, why don’t you go to bed? You’re obviously very tired.”

“I’m fine ‘Mione,” he brushed off, dismissively if lazily waving his hand. The girl’s frown only deepened.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeh. I'm fine, really.” She sighed deeply, but nodded and returned to her own meal. Unfortunately, she’d already attracted Ron’s attention to his mate’s debatable wellbeing.

 

 

“What’s up with you?”

“Hm?”

“You’re all tired and crap-”

“Ronald! Language!”

“-sorry Mum – what’ve you been up to?”

“Nothing much,” Harry deflected, eyes briefly meeting Severus’ with a warning hidden in their depths, a ship-wreck acting as a lighthouse,  
“Just did some duelling. But I slept badly so I guess it’s all just adding up or something.”

“Eh. Fair enough.” Honestly, that was enough to satisfy the boy? Harry’s ‘best-friend’ was hardly the most observant, or considerate, was he?

 

 

“Really Ron, is that it?” Oh Merlin, and here came the concerned mother hen, barging in once more. Severus knew that Harry appreciated her taking any thought or kindness towards him, but she wasn’t half over-bearing.

“Harry dear, you must go to bed early tonight.” She then continued on, steam-rolling over any attempts he might have made at protesting,  
“And don’t you worry about breakfast tomorrow. I’m more than happy to come down and cook. It’s not like I’m not used to it!” Smiling awkwardly at her, Harry simply nodded in acquiescence. He had no way of weaselling out of that one, he could tell. Still, he could simply read in his room.

 

 

Or perhaps not. Within an hour of Harry being practically sent off to bed, Ron came into the room, muttering to himself and slamming the door. In an instant, Harry’s book was under his pillow, hidden from sight, and he was on his side, breathing deeply. Merlin's rainbow stockings, if Ron had seen what he was reading and told Molly. Her reaction to ‘Darke Artes Moste Arcane’… It didn’t bear thinking about. Well, he’d gotten away with it for now. Really, Severus’ reaction had been bad enough.

 

 

“Harry, you still awake mate? Harry?” He certainly couldn’t pretend to be asleep now.

“Yeh?” he slurred. Huh, maybe he wasn’t actually as awake as he’d thought he was.

“You actually alright?”

“Yeh.” Harry hesitated for a moment, pushing himself to sit on the edge of his bed, “Why?”

“Dunno. You’ve just been a bit… off. Don’t tell me the slimy git’s been cursing you!”

“Oh shut up Ron. Nah, he’s fine. Treats me pretty decently.” Ron guffawed at that, even though it hadn’t been a joke. Ah, right.

“Like that bastard would treat you well! He’s a Slytherin Harry, he hates us all. You most of course. Fucking git.”

 

Harry really needed to get Ron and Severus to get along, didn’t he?

 

“Just leave it, hey Ron? He’s been helping me you know. Not many people do.”

“Eh, whatever. Most people’d give an arm an’ a leg to be the Boy-Who-Lived, or even just help him. You don’t need the bloke. Not really.”

“Oh yes, because everybody knows how to spy or fight a pitched battle or how to figure out Voldemort’s plans.” Okay, sarcasm was better than fury. Just keep it calm.

“Why does he know that though? ‘Cause he’s evil Harry, he’s _evil_. Have you forgotten all the times he’s hurt you? Insulted you?” There went keeping calm:

“No Ron! Just no! He’s saved me, over and over and over again! He’s been hurt, nearly killed, because of Voldemort – just like me! If he’s evil, then so am I! Okay?!”

 

 

Before he could give in to the temptation of punching the redhead, or worse, hexing him with something less than pleasant, Harry stormed out. Behind him, a small procession of his trunk, random books, and his broom clattered along, scraping against the wooden flooring.

“Wha-? Harry!” But the young man was already gone, heading down the stairs. His belongings continued to follow him, all the way into the guest room-cum-infirmary on the ground floor. The two twin beds were long-unused, but at least they were clean. And away from Ron. Hopefully his friend had been too gob-smacked to notice the titles of his books. Though really, that was probably the least of Harry’s worries.

 

Regardless, he’d hardly slumped onto the bed, eyes closed in defeat, before he couldn’t open them again. He really was tired.

 

 

\-------------------------------

 

 

 _‘Darke Artes Moste Arcane’_ – Hedgarius Black III

_I welcome thee to a world of words wherein one such as thee may peruse the ‘Darke Artes Moste Arcane’. These enchantments are thus: hexes, curses, jinxes. Thine intrigue behoves thou and I shall endeavour to educate thou as such. Make thine enemies afeared! Tear families asunder! Be the bane of every baseborn, beldam and blackguard. One shall require more than an apothecary to recover from thy curses._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, my next update will probably be a few days late as I won't have access to my computer until the 30th or 31st.  
> Hope you guys are still enjoying this fic! Otaku6337, Xxx.


	9. Visions Of Fire And Hair Aflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occlumency is far from infallible, and so are people.

 

 

That night was a rough one. Not considering how exhausted Harry was, or perhaps actually due to it, when Harry dropped right off into sleep, he also dropped straight into Voldemort’s head. Fucking hell.

 

 

_A maniacal, sadistic chuckle, the sound horrifically casual if not for the dark undertone, rang through the air from their throat. How delightful were the screams of these puny Muggles, these little mice scampering back and forth, searching for an escape from the blaze. There was no escape, fools! Ah, the sunset flames were beautiful in their destruction. So elegant yet so catastrophic. Perhaps t(he)y would teach anything that survived a little culture. Yes, a little appreciation for the finer things far above their comprehension._

_“Crucio!”_

 

For hours it seemed, Harry watched on silently from Voldemort’s mind. It had been a long time since he had bothered screaming and shouting at him to stop, to just _fucking die already you bastard!_ Instead he merely lingered, incapable both morally and physically of wrenching his attention away from the dying innocents and laughing Death Eaters. He couldn’t control a single god-damn thing.

 

When could he ever, really?

 

“Potter? Potter!” Please, yes, someone wake him up.

“Harry! Merlin’s sake, I’m coming in brat.” There was a pause where Harry struggled to grasp what was going on. In one ear, screams still _echoed, Dark Magic was twisting around their skin, molten and oh so powerful_ yet in the other there were rapid footsteps.

“Harry? Oi, brat! What’s wrong with you?” Yet he could only twitch in reply, unable to see what sounded like Severus past the saturated image of bloody tortured and torturers.

“Harry!” A hand shaking his shoulder, burning, grounding, and his eyes finally focused beyond his own mind.

“Sev’rus-” he gasped out, desperate, spasming inside and out.

“Hush now. Calm down. You’re safe. I’m going to summon Poppy now. Hush.” Harry wanted to protest but the warm, heavy hand on his shoulder stayed and he couldn’t form words and something silver, something beautiful, was glowing in his vision before it danced away, pranced away, so pretty but now it was gone and-

“Harry! Breathe. Harry! Now, you idiot brat, in. One, two, three…”

 

 

It seemed an age before Severus stopped counting his breaths with him, and certainly not before Madame Pomfrey arrived, loitering just within the thankfully-closed door.

“Right then Mr. Potter,” she bustled forwards as he sat up, lungs not quite heaving anymore,  
“Shall we have a look at you? What-” She paused for a second, shooting a questioning glance at the Potions Master beside her, who had no explanation to give,  
“You seem to have been exposed to the Cruciatus dear. Do you know how?”

“It- a vision. Wh-when he casts a spell they… they kinda hit me too. Dunno. Sorry.”

 

 

Nodding brusquely, Pomfrey simply began pulling potions from her carry case. Handing them to Severus to administer, she held her wand steadily and cast a number of diagnostics, gradually building up a half-rainbow halo above his chest.

“Well dear, you’ve certainly been through the wringer. Minor magical exhaustion, over-exposure to the Cruciatus, moderate-if-not-dangerous swelling of the parietal cortex and brain stem respectively, muscle fatigue, a not-inconsiderable burn on your left shoulder plus a nasty cut to the thigh. And of course the lesser ramifications of a panic attack. I should hope you remain in bed for the rest of the day at least, young man. Ideally, two to three dependent upon your recovery rate. Am I understood?”

“Yes Madame Pomfrey,” Harry replied, a little dazed after her listing.

“Very good. Severus, I expect you to keep him in check. Ensure he stays in bed and relatively undisturbed, yes?”

“If I must.” But the words didn’t possess their typical drawling vitriol and were instead wry, droll. Well, better than resentful.

 

 

It didn’t take another thirty seconds for Madame Pomfrey to leave, her doctor’s bag floating beside her through the door-way. Turning his heavy head towards the elder, Harry began with hoarse gratitude, voice grating and unwilling,  
“Thanks Seve- Sir. For waking me up, I mean. Else…”

“You would have been stuck there for even longer?”

“Yes,” the teen flushed in shame, “I can’t get out of his head by myself. My magic doesn’t really respond. It’s like it’s… too far away. Hate it. Bad enough that I’m there in the first place. Then I can’t help and- Merlin Se- Sir. I just can’t-” And Harry’s body shuddered violently with something close to sobs, eyes screwing shut and fists clenching feebly.

“Hush now brat. There’s nothing to be done. We both know this. Hush now.”

 

 

Once more a Potions-stained hand reached out, unwavering, to grip Harry’s shoulder. The touch was grounding, reassuring. Needed.

 

 

“Thank you. ‘m sorry, Seve- Sir, I really am. For everything.”

“Be quiet, you idiot brat. You have done nothing of significant damage towards my person. Nor any others,” the man seemed to hesitate for a moment before adding,  
“And call me Severus, at least in private. I’m not currently your teacher after all,” and here a touch of dry, not-quite-bitter amusement crossed his face,  
“And somehow I doubt I ever will be again, don’t you think?”

“Probably not,” Harry sighed, gathering together the remaining vestiges of his clarity.

 

 

“Very well.” The words were brusque, almost harsh, and pulled Harry right out of the funk he was already beginning to fall into.

“You’re obviously exhausted in more ways than one, so might I recommend you try to sleep once more? I shall awaken you should the need arise.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course brat.” Thus, the younger’s eyelids hung heavier and lower until he was gone altogether. Resisting the urge to stroke the black, unruly hair back from the calm face, Severus instead conjured a comfortable armchair with a murmured word and half-twisted wave of his wand and sunk into the forgiving leather. Hopefully the young man would sleep peacefully this time.

 

 

 

The following morning was heralded by a hesitant but heavy-handed knock upon the door. Grumbling incoherently, the Potions Master rose from his seat to open it, movements slow with sleep and stiff joints.

“Oi, Harry, mate! You in there?!” Grumbling more distinctly now, the door was yanked open in a bad-tempered jerk,  
“We’d thank you, Weasley the sixth, to be considerably quieter. The brat needs to rest and you are hardly helping matters.”

“Whaddya mean- Weasly the- Harry-”

“If your coherency is this poor, might I recommend you return post-education?” The words were snide, trickling black with poisonous wit. A half-groan, half-snort from behind the room halted any indignant reply.

 

 

“Why are you here?” Harry sounded tired, resigned, but there was no forgiving lilt to his voice. Good, Severus thought viciously. He might not know why Harry had vacated his shared room, nor exactly what his vision had entailed, but seeing Weasley only more gobsmacked was always an amusement.

“’Cause- It’s breakfast time mate. And, uh…”

“And?” The man butted in, unable to resist a sneer.

“Uh, well, I wanted to, you know, apologise, or whatever. So, yeh, uh, sorry mate.”

“Indeed. Do send up Ganger or the infernal twins with two breakfasts. Now get out.” Again, Severus took a certain glee in interrupting. Harry could forgive him later, but the brat needed his rest for now. Not rowdy, insecure children.

 

 

Flushing an ugly red, Ron stomped away, already beginning to mutter angrily.

 

 

“Well, you were both rude.” Severus merely tsked in reply, a sneer still painted on his face like an old oil painting, flaking when his eyes met the startling green of the younger’s. Then he spoke once more,  
“And how are you this fine, peaceful morning?” A weary smile met his words.  
“Alright,” he flinched under the weight of the elder’s stare, “…Sore. Trembly. Is that even a word?”

“I believe it is, if not an overly sophisticated one.”

“Right, well. Not too bad, I guess. Thanks.”

 

Before Severus could formulate a reply, a loud, single knock came from the door.

“Breakfast anyone?” came the twin voices, half-laughing.

“Do come in.”

“Why thank you-” “kind Sir. Don’t mind-” “if we do!”

 

 

The next five minutes were a whirlwind of the twin’s manic energy, vivacious despite the relatively early time.

“Good one Harrikins!” “It’s not often someone manages” “to shut our little idiot” “up, yet here we are.” “It’s quite brilliant really.” And:

“We’ve got a few new” “ideas in the works at” “the moment, you’ll have to” “make some time to test” “them with us! It’ll be” “fun, we promise! Might even” “get some dodging practice!” Then, as abruptly as they arrived, the two were leaving, calling over last jokes over their shoulders and down the corridor.

 

 

“How has Hogwarts survived those two for the last seven years?” Severus groaned, “How have I?” he continued to lament under his breath.

“I like them,” came the sniggered, unwarranted response.

“You would, wouldn’t you? You little hellion.”

“Oi!”

“Oi nothing. Eat your breakfast.”

“Fine,” then Harry’s tone lowered to something virtually unintelligible, “Still weird eating three meals during the summer.” Severus filed that away, but failed to comment, instead tucking into his porridge. It wasn’t as good as Harry’s, he couldn't help but notice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly titled this 'Weasley The Sixth' but I do actually like Ron, some of the time at least, so I was kind.
> 
> Plus: Happy Birthday Harry! Sorry that his fic birthday is still around ten chapters away - although, if I manage to get just one or more chapters written up, then I might start updating once a week or something instead. Not sure yet, I'll see!
> 
> Thanks for reading as always! xxx


	10. The Worst Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some discoveries are made and whilst Harry is resigned, Severus refuses to accept defeat. Progress will be made, solutions will be found, no matter the cost.

 

 

Later on that day, close to noon, surely, Harry and Severus are each sat on a bed, trekking their way through the many books from the Black library that now surround them thanks to Harry’s satchel. Their reading was rarely interrupted, if not for the occasional interested noise or brief debate over some particular snippet. This, however, was undeniably the most significant discovery yet:

 

“Sir- Severus! I’ve found something.”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember us talking about Him separating and sealing away his soul; I think I’ve found a reference to it- them. Here, in _Darke Artes Moste Arcane_ , it mentions ‘Horcruxes’. The description fits and the rituals detailed would be easy enough for something like Him to have accomplished multiple times over-” Harry’s rambling was cut off by Severus practically snatching the aforementioned tome out of his hands, poring over the spidery text.

“Merlin’s… I do believe you’re right Harry. It would explain a good many things. Too many.”

“Yeh,” and here the younger visibly shuddered, despite the comfortable warmth of the room, “But it’s nasty magic, incredibly Dark Magicks, worse than anything else I’ve found. It’s fucking disgusting!” He suddenly spits, his previously soft, horrified tone becoming vitriolic.

 

 

“The worst part?” is murmured into the following silence, hesitant and hollow. It grates to hear Harry, bright and brash Harry, talk with such melancholy resignation.

“Do I truly want to know?” The almost-sarcastic words had no hope of lightening the mood.

“No, you don’t, fuck, almost wish I didn’t. Not sure what’s worse honestly…”

Severus interrupts the recurring silence by leaning forward to poke the younger in the shoulder, gaze surprisingly soft despite the meaner gesture.

 

 

“I think I’m a Horcrux too.”

 

 

The words are whispered, hoarse, hushed like a prayer or, perhaps more accurately, a curse made on one’s death bed. They ring out quietly, almost gently, despite the brutal truth that resonates within them.

 And they leave Severus breathless.

 

 

“No!” he abruptly yells, refusing to believe such a thing, hands clenched to a deathly white pallor. Surely not even Fate or Voldemort himself was so cruel-!

“This cannot be true. You’re wrong Harry, you’re wrong. You _must_ be! Albus- You- Not even He could have-” But Harry simply sat there, silent, letting the elder’s denial and anger run its course, washing over him in its tempest of indignation and terror. Harry looked too small and too sad for this to be the truth of such matters. Not this idiot brat who was worming his way-

 

 

“How…?” came his choked question.

“It’d have to be that first Halloween, I suppose. He must have performed the rituals beforehand. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting our location to be leaked then, and he rushed off carelessly. Mum’s death would have completed any-” he stumbled for a second, “any unmade sacrifices and that, combined with the Vow he took to you, unintentional though it may have been, to protect her, all ensured my survival, if only as his Horcrux. It’s quite ironic really, isn’t it?”

“It’s… There aren’t words, Harry, for just how vile, horrific- how bloody _typical_ this is,” the laugh is beyond bitter,   “First Lily, then Albus, now this. Is there _nothing_ even slightly untainted by His presence?” Despair laces every single syllable, dripping thick like honey but caustic and deadly as poison. Any sweetness in the mention of his beloved ones is not just marred by that poison but corroded by it, utterly eradicated and replaced with something dark in all the wrong ways.

 

 

In lieu of truly answering, they both know the harsh realities of their lives after all, Harry instead stands and crosses the mere two paces between them. Kneeling before Severus’ hunched figure, he telegraphs his every motion and pulls the elder close to his chest, cradling him in reassurance and need. Half-slotted between Severus’ legs, one hand holding a head of long, dark hair against his shoulder, Harry acts as a pillar of strength even whilst subtly leaning against the stability of the older man’s seated position. It is at moments such as these that they most rely upon each other. And it is in a way that nobody else seems to understand.

 

 

How could they? Nobody else has lost everything to Voldemort, not in such a total way as they. Any single glimpse at happiness or safety is torn away from them and has been for years. Any respite is darkened by some other agony. Not to mention the horrors of witnessing Voldemort’s insanity firsthand, from the position of the wrong side, as it were.

 

Nobody else seems to even comprehend that pretty words only provide shallow redemption at best.

 

No, it is the physical things that ground them. Things more real than the monsters of memories. Actions, whilst speaking louder, also mean more. Having someone you trust hold you close, not giving you empty platitudes but instead providing what little kind reality they can, was worth the weight of the world in gold, every scrap and gem in Gringotts. And Duelling or brewing potions or reading books might allow for a placebo, a temporary aid, but having that touch was a pathway to stability like nothing else.

 

 

 

It took far too long for both of their hands to stop trembling quite so violently, or their shoulders to hitch in some odd combination of panic, pain and resignation. But once both had effectively gathered themselves, Harry stood up once more. And, still keeping his movements obvious, took a seat next to Severus, their shoulders brushing. The warmth of the shared space allowed the comfort of their previous position to continue reassuring them. They needed it. After a long moment’s silent hesitation, the elder raised his arm and draped it across the younger’s shoulders, drawing him in just that little bit closer. With something nearing a whimper, Harry curled into the gesture, laying his head against the proffered shoulder and slipping his own arm around Severus’ waist.

 

They stayed as such until a shout of _‘LUNCH IS READY’_ rang through the gloomy house. Even then, they paused for a precious few extra seconds before untangling themselves and stretching. Still, neither spoke a word. They didn’t need to, not really, not now. It didn't matter if they were as pale as fresh parchment and twice as fragile, or if their eyes were feverishly bright. Nor did it matter if the memories of trembling limbs and earth-shattering truths still lingered at the corners of their awareness. It didn't matter because they'd had another's strength to bolster their own and together they were invincible, even if they didn't know fully that yet.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to bring in some fluff here, because I know I have a habit of going heavy on the angst. Hopefully it makes up for the wonderful revelation at the beginning of the chap! Plus, were the sentences weird? I felt like there were lots of awkwardly long descriptive bits, but uhm yeh I dunno???
> 
> Whilst I'm on the topic of my short-comings, I hope the pacings for all of my various mini-plotlines is okay and vaguely coherent, not to mention blending well together and with the primary plotline (though I'm not honestly sure if that's the war or the romance! Or both!)
> 
> So, in short, let me know how you think I'm doing!  
>  
> 
> PS: Thanks as always for reading! Xx


	11. Naps And Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Severus are stressed and tired, but they deal.

 

Lunch, for Harry and Severus at least, was a nigh-on silent affair. Even the younger, who normally made an effort to interact with his friends, had no qualms about utterly ignoring them in favour of simply sitting and eating. They were far too emotionally drained, and physically drained at that, to be presenting any facades.

 

Luckily, it appeared that Hermione and the twins had caught onto this, and they, along with Lupin, provided a buffer of sorts. Their attempts at diverting attention were a tad clumsy and understandably confused for the most part, but no less appreciated. Because there was no way to suddenly engage in normal conversation right now. Not after the last, disastrous twelve-hour period. Between visions and revelations like _fucking Horcruxes,_ Harry and Severus were thoroughly worn out to say the least. It was almost too much just to deal with all the hubbub and ruckus around them, the clattering of cutlery and immediate echoes of boisterous voices. Harry just wanted to sleep, honestly. --and what a fuckin mood--

 

 

As soon as polite, or perhaps a little before, honestly, the two pushed away from the table, nodded to Molly in thanks, and made their way back up the one floor to Harry’s new room, plain as it still was.

“D'you mind if I just have a nap? I- I know we should be trying to deal with this, but, Merlin, Severus… I just need a break…” And here the elder took the chance to really examine Harry: the trembling that had died down had returned viciously as they came back into the room; his complexion, whilst always a little pale, was alarmingly ashen. Then there were his eyes. Harry’s eyes were typically a vivid green, somewhere between the Killing Curse and Lily’s favourite emerald hair clasp. But right now they were clouded over in exhaustion and something darker, something subtle and insidious.

“Certainly. That might be a very good idea. I shall read in here, if that shan’t bother you.”

“No, please do.” And was there a note of desperation there, or was it only courtesy that Severus heard? No matter. He’d watch over the brat regardless.

 

 

With that, Harry unashamedly and seemingly unthinkingly discarded his shirt, revealing a good number of scars, before slipping unto his bed and immediately closing his eyes. Leaving Severus almost gobsmacked.

 

 

How had the young man collected such a volume of scars? He hadn‘t seen all of them just then, he could tell, as he had seen only a glimpse, but still… What looked like belt marks layered his back, along with a few long gouges of knotted flesh. The meat of one shoulder had a visibly missing chunk! By Merlin’s rainbow tie-die y-fronts! Severus might have assumed that Harry’s relatives were abusive, but surely not to this extent? And how had it never been picked up before? What had Albus been doing?

 

 

That gave Severus pause. For all of his wisdom and kindness, Albus had been a manipulative old coot all the same. And those machinations most often came into play when Harry was involved. Would it really have been beyond the wizard to leave the brat in a less-than-ideal home if it furthered his own goals? No, Severus had gone down this rabbit hole before: the previous Headmaster had undoubtedly known an had twisted it to his own advantage. And as despicable as that fact was, Harry was here now, and was soon seventeen, soon free of those Muggle clutches. Harry was safe. Instead, Severus needed to focus on the looming threats ahead of them all.

 

 

With this in mind, the man buried himself in ancient tomes once more. They would finish studying the Field Healing, interspersed with Duelling to keep the brat from getting too restless, then turn fully to battling. Tactics would have to be introduced, allowing Harry’s natural instincts to be enhanced and applied to other fighters. Yes, this should work.

 

First though, they would have to finish assessing what Harry already knew. Including those _Dark_ spells that the idiot brat had mentioned.

 

 

Heaving a great sigh, Severus allowed his gaze to roam to the sleeping teenager. Yet, looking upon the lined face, tension lining the angry scar and deep eye-bags, the Potions Master couldn’t truly see a child. No, this scarred, weary veteran was a man, no matter how young, not a mere teenager. And as irrational and immature as he could still be, that would hold true. Nobody could go through the fraction of experiences that Severus was aware of and remain innocent and ignorant. A pity perhaps, but one that could save the Wizarding World. What a position the brat had been placed in.

Thanks to Albus, Severus snorted, because didn’t it always loop back to that old goat? Yes, didn’t it just?

 

 

Grumbling to himself under his breath, some part of his mind registering that Harry needed quiet to remain asleep, Severus firmly turned himself back to the books. Dealing with the immediate problems was something he could do. Now, to find some parchment…

 

 

 

Severus had covered over a foot of parchment in his spindly, jagged writing, jotting down what Harry needed to know, what the elder himself needed to revise and affirm his knowledge in. And it wasn’t just an information bank that needed to be built up, actual physical practice was going to be essential. For that he’d need to talk to Poppy at tomorrow’s Order meeting, get her to track down a dummy for them, preferably one of St. Mungos’ higher-quality ones. One should suffice, but they would need it sooner rather than later, not to mention have to then keep it somewhere. Maybe they could drag one of the various protected cabinets from the bedrooms upstairs into the basement, leave it in a corner? Hmm, yes, that should…

 

 

“Sev’rus?” came a slurred murmur.

“Indeed,” came the reply, oddly soft despite its brusqueness. As he spoke, his eyes tracked Harry pushing himself up awkwardly, movements stiff and eyes still at half-mast.

“You stayed?” It was quiet, perhaps not intended to be heard, but Severus continued the conversation all the same,

“I did. Are… Are you more collected now?”

“Yeh thanks.” And he really did seem it: his eyes were calm and bright, albeit marred by sleep-dust, no longer feverish or dazed; his lips weren’t twisted in a moue of discomfort but were relaxed in a slight smile; his hands neither twitched nor trembled, easily supporting the young man as he sat up then reached to the floor for his discarded shirt.

 

 

“So what do you have there?”

“Notes on what we shall be learning next. We shouldn’t need much longer on the theoretical Healing and I shall endeavour to procure us a training dummy via Poppy – Madame Pomfrey – during tomorrow’s Order meeting. Then we can practice before moving on fully to Duelling and strategy. Is that agreeable?”

“Sounds good to me, thanks.”

“Very well.” With that they fell into comfortable silence, Harry pulling one of his own books into his lap. The elder couldn’t help but note that it wasn’t ‘ _The Darke Artes Moste Arcane’_. Not that he could blame the brat. Some time to process would do them good, rather than obsessing over something that right now they had no power to change.

 

 

But one day they would, of that Severus would guarantee.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest, I’m not very happy with this chapter. It feels clunky and cyclical; repetitive. Sorry about that, but I was trying to give an insight into the thought processes of Severus and then it was just going in circles. Still, next chapter should pick up the pace a little without becoming too angsty – or so she says! Thanks as always, hope you’re enjoying the fic – Otaku6337. Xx
> 
> PS: If you’re noticing any disparities between Dumbledore being addressed as either Albus or Dumbledore, it’s because in general he’s referred to as Dumbledore but due to how close Severus and a few of the other staff members were, they may privately (or in Sev’s case when it’s his thoughts) refer to him as Albus. Hopefully I don’t slip up with it!


	12. Serious Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important conversations are had; introductions are made; opinions are formed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very glad to say that this and the next chapters are significantly longer than 10 or 11, which both feel aggravatingly short.

 

After a full day of revisiting the theoretical aspects of their crash course in Field Healing, Harry and Severus were finally making their way back downstairs for the Order meeting. Encountering the infernal twins on the stairs, the Potions Master took a moment to interject upon their conversation.

“-why at nine? I’m brain-dead after today-”

“You certainly are if the answer isn’t blatant.”

“ _Severus_ ,” Harry hissed. At the warning, the elder merely turned his smirk towards the brat. And, upon seeing the mischievous glint in those dark eyes, Harry had to stifle a snort. Meanwhile their two favourite redheads were gaping. Taking pity on them, the youngest took the opportunity to elaborate on Severus’ earlier point,  
“Look, you were busy all day, right?” receiving nods, he went on,  
“Well you were _busy_ then, think about it. Everyone was: teaching, investigating, catching Dark Wizards, politics, training, selling stuff and experimenting in you two’s case. At least this late, we’re still functioning and aren’t normally occupied. Makes sense, right?” Harry’s voice had, oddly, quietened and become hesitant by the end, prompting a curious gaze from Severus. Luckily, the young men both made typically exuberant noises of agreement and understanding, prompting Harry to stand tall once more.

“Come now, idiot brat, infernal twins, I do believe we have a meeting to attend.”

 

Accordingly, Severus ushered them forwards and they entered the kitchen to find everyone else already gathered. Taking their places between Remus and Poppy, Harry and Severus took a moment to take in the three additional faces.

“As we have everyone now, I will take a moment to introduce the new faces,” McGonagall began, her voice clear but not with quite the same lecturing tone she would take with her classes,  
“Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, though most of you are familiar with her. Thank you for joining us Amelia.” The elegant blonde inclined her head, stern face relaxing into a sharp smile for a moment.

“Glad to be here,” she returned, tone perfectly even, eyes examining every other person leisurely and closely. She had no outward reaction to Harry, nor Severus, to which both were grateful.

 

“We also have Tenko Kurasuma and Daniella Whitechurch, Aurors.” The former was a man of obvious oriental descent, Japanese, Severus thought to himself, and was a sturdy figure, broad shouldered despite obviously being a little below average height. Still, the man’s eyes were keen and his demeanour collected. Promising. In contrast to her companion’s calm, Daniella was clearly energetic in a way that reflected Tonks, who was sat at her side.  
“Dani, please. Less of a mouthful!” Her tone was bright, spritely. At least she didn’t seem thick, if her observation of the room was any indication. Sufficient.

 

With the new members introduced, talks turned to Voldemort’s current tactics:

“So, Severus, what have you heard of him?”

“Personally, very little. He has been asking for only generic potions for promoting magical stability and others for interrogation, such as truth serums and inhibition weakeners. The only such thing of note is that his magic is somewhat unstable, should we be afforded a situation with which to take advantage of it.”

 

Harry suddenly tapped his finger almost imperceptibly against the table between them, and Severus met his gaze. It only took a few seconds of silent conversation before the elder continued,  
“However I have become aware of an attack on a Muggle village, somewhere rural, that took place three nights ago. I doubt that it will be the only of its kind. Do the Aurors have anything in place to detect such things?”

“Not currently, no, although the Department of Mysteries is, apparently, close to completing an appropriate system of enchanted devices that will be implemented within the next two months, ideally one,” Madame Bones was to-the-point and clear, something that Severus greatly appreciated.

 

“Very well. If I learn of any prior to the event, I shall alert you all.”

“Thank you,” was accompanied by another gracious nod from the blonde. It took a brief moment, but then the woman continued,  
“Would that village perhaps have been Shurdon? An Obliviation team was sent out in the early morning of last Wednesday, but all possible culprits were gone and many of the locals had died. There was nothing for my men to do.”

Severus hesitated only long enough for Harry to silently tap his third finger against the table,  
“Perhaps. I have no knowledge as to the exact location, only that there were no Aurors present and that many died in a fire.”

“Yes, Shurdon was heavily afflicted by a blaze initially lit by Fiendfyre. It would appear that it is the same place.”  
“Very well. I have reason to believe that the Dark Lord himself was there. Was there any evidence to the contrary?”

“No.”

“I see.” As both Severus and Madame Bones devolved into silence, McGonagall took over once more.

 

“Is there any other news as to Voldemort’s movements?”

“I believe he has begun to contact the werewolf packs. Of course, Greyback was always allied with him, but the others have to be approached. I… I’m not sure how much support he’ll gather, but it’ll probably be quite a lot, judging by what little I currently know.”  
An immediate murmur stirred up the silence of the room, quickly gaining volume. After a minute of this, Harry clearly lost patience and raised his wand with a softly spoken,

“ **Signum ignesco**.”

 

 

The instant tolling of a great, deep bell reverberated through the room, just masking the faint hissing of many snakes, all accompanying a deep green and purple light, too rich in tone to be a Killing Curse, but alarming all the same, which shot to the ceiling and formed a giant writhing serpent, intertwined with a snarling lion.

The spectacular sight instantaneously silenced the unruly crowd. One by one, then all at once, they turned to Harry as he gradually dispersed his magic.  
“Thank you,” the brat huffed, tucking his wand away,  
“Were you done Remus?”

“No, thank you Harry, I wasn’t quite. I was going to suggest that I go and talk to any packs I could; get a proper idea of the general leanings, see if many are sympathetic towards us.”

“Sounds brilliant. Any objections?” As one of the twins went to speak, a mischievous grin gracing his face, Severus quickly stifled him with a glare. It wouldn’t do to have him unintentionally undermine Harry.

 

The Order meeting continued on for another two hours, ending at a time hardly before midnight. The control of the group bandied between McGonagall, Madame Bones and Harry, most curiously. With their direction, a plan to deal with the werewolves was concocted. Harry proposed offering aid in brewing Wolfsbane, should any packs ally with them. Between the twins, Severus, Hermione and, apparently, Kurasuma, they should have enough advanced Potioneers that production would be possible. Once this had all been settled, and initial details ironed out, as well as the other matters addressed, the Meeting was disbanded for the week. Severus couldn't help but be grateful that it was over. Damned social interaction.

 

 

Allowing the brat half an hour to settle post-Meeting, Severus finally lifted his gaze from the book in his lap, amber-onyx eyes focusing diagonally across the room on the younger, also reading. There was no hint of his more unpleasant emotions.

“What was that earlier?”  Harry's gaze cut to Severus, hesitation evident,

“What was what?”

“Brat. You know what I’m talking about.” As the resulting silence stretched onwards, Severus dared to stand from his armchair and take a seat next to Harry instead, just close enough that his warmth could be felt, could be reassuring. He wasn’t trying to intimidate the brat into answering after all; he wanted an honest answer. Judging by Harry's now-resigned posture, the young man might actually comply.

 

“I guess I’m just… not used to being listened to? Or to correcting people or being right or whatever. It’s not my place.”

“You don’t suffer that problem around me. Nor with the Order during meetings.” Severus carefully observed. He needed to tread cautiously, lest Harry clam up.

“The Order _need_ to be- to be corrected. To be led. That’s the Boy-Who-Lived anyway, not me. And you- you’re- you don’t count!” The indignancy did nothing to mask the blush staining the younger’s cheeks.

“Oh?”

“No, you don’t,” he reiterated, voice lowering into a whisper, “You know me. You- _dammit_ Severus! People don’t understand: I’m not clever, I’m not important, I’m just- just a worthless little _freak_. The _Boy-Who-Lived_ is important. He’s strong and brave and he’s going to fucking save everyone and kill a monster. But people look at me and see him and it’s suffocating because being him would make me worthy, but I still don’t want to be him. There’s no place for _me_ , but you still understand me, still accept me. So, no- no, you don’t count.” Harry was shaking, chest heaving despite only having whispered, eyes wide and frightened, the bags beneath them somehow casting shadows over his entire face.

“Harry… Harry, look at me, breathe for me, there you go, just take a minute, keep breathing…”

 

And whilst it did take those few minutes, Harry was visibly calmer and Severus allowed himself to refocus on the true problem,

“I think I know where this attitude has come from, and I’m not going to press that right now because we’re tired and I don’t believe pushing you will truly help, but listen carefully to me Harry,” Severus paused, tapping the younger under the chin until their eyes met,

“ _You_ are important. _You_ matter to people, and not just as the blasted ‘Saviour’. _You_ are _not_ a freak; you are intelligent and quick-witted and strong and cunning, you are everything you need to be and more. Do you hear me, my brat, do you understand?” Meeting those dull green eyes and seeing the sparks of life and determination shine through the doubts and insecurities gave Severus pause. His words had done that. His words.

 

“You- thanks Severus,” came the wrung-out reply, before the young man was leaning helplessly into the elder’s shoulder, crying the silent sobs of someone who had long-since learnt that crying earned them nothing but rejection and punishment.

 

This time, Harry was given comfort and warm arms that held him close until they both fell asleep. No nightmares would invade their shared space that night.

 

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

 

 **Signum ignesco** – lit. signal aflame/ signal glow/ signal ignite – the Flare Signal Spell. Typically used as a distress signal, or to draw attention to a particular place or person, this spell was originally created for sailors and adventurers who became lost or caught in dangerous conditions.  
The colour, shape and possible sound of the flare represents the caster, alike but a lesser version of a Patronus or Animagus form.

Example; Harry J. Potter:

Colour: Green - Purple 

Colour Significance: renewal, misfortune, luck, eternity, family, peace - royalty, mourning, integrity, ambition, authority, justice, creativity

Sound: Tolling bell - Hissing of snakes

Sound Significance: death knoll, voice of God, beginnings, endings, warnings, herald of supernatural - diplomacy, threats, warnings, articulacy, amicability, quietness

Imagery: Snake - Lion

Imagery Significance: rebirth, patience, intellect, eternity, protection, enigma, duality, ambitious, cunning, shrewdness - wisdom, vitality, ferocity, aggression, courage, royalty, patience, influence, nobility, leadership, protection

 

 

 


	13. A Rough Day All Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much as the chapter title says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there guys, just wanted to let you know that I've started a YouTube playlist for this fic, with some of the songs that I've listened to while writing that remind me of Harry and Sev. Hopefully, this link works!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2JbnT-CZHEcUJnkNmi9iiNumqgt30_C9
> 
> Personally, the ones I think are most fitting are:  
> Don't You Know - Jaymes Young  
> My Demons - Starset  
> Oneshot - NEFFEX  
> Blue - Revelries & Rob Tirea

 

The next evening, Severus had been Summoned and thus Harry found himself in Grimmauld library with his friends, he was reading and sorting through texts whilst Ron and the twins played Gobstones. It had been a fun few hours, even if a portion of Harry's attention was worrying over Severus instead of the library's organisation or his friends games and jokes.

 

And it had all been fine until an abrupt, blinding flash of agonising rage gripped Harry, bending him double as he reached to replace a book, the tome tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud drowned out by his self-muffled scream.

“Harry!” cried more than one voice. Yet, encompassed by pain that throbbed and writhed throughout his body as though alive, the teenager didn’t notice, let alone reply. Something was- something was happening. Something important-

 _₰ **Sssseveruss. Myy dear littttle ssssnake. You havvve betraaayed mee** ₰  _Ron flinched back viciously, even as the twins remained staunchly at Harry’s side, holding down his flailing arms.

“Harry, mate” "snap out of it!”  “Ron, go and get”  “Mum! Now!” The younger redhead stumbled as he turned around, headed to the door, before regaining his footing in time to sprint into the hallway and begin yelling for his mother. Meanwhile, Fred was leaning heavily across Harry’s chest and arms with his entire body weight; the teen was thrashing viciously. George straddled his hips and thighs, clutching at his ankles and trying desperately not to get bucked off. The two were sweating. Although whether due to effort or terrified concern couldn’t be said.

 

_ ₰  **You ssshhhaaaall dieee, traaaitorrr. Diee aaa paainfulll deaatttthhhh** ₰ _

 

Abruptly Harry froze. Muscles seized into one aching position, unmoving but for a fine tremble.

“Sssseveruss,” came the hissed English, sounding desperate and hopeless. Horrified.

“What’s all this kerfuffle? Is Harry- oh dear. Harry, dear, can you hear me?” Madame Pomfrey had stridden into the room, a tad ruffled, but she now rushed to the teenager’s side, dropping to her knees upon a thoughtlessly cast cushioning charm, a hand coming to cup a tear-stained young cheek.

“Harry? What is happening, Potter?” But her gentle words did no good, not even seeming to reach the silently weeping boy.

“He was hissing in Parseltongue, then called out for Professor Snape,” came the simultaneous explanation from the twins. The medical woman’s face impossibly gravened further.

“Severus is currently at a Meeting… It is all too possible…” The four Weasleys now occupying the room could only watch, helpless, as Pomfrey appeared lost for a split second, then met her eyes with Harry’s. Clear azure clashed with clouded emerald. Three, four, five too-long seconds later, eyelids slid closed over the pale blue and a quiet string of Latin streamed forth from thin lips.

 

A bloody body in black robes materialised next to Harry.

 

Jumping away in shock, four wands were raised by the redheads, only to be hesitantly lowered as the mediwitch moved with a speed defying her age to crouch instead by the new prone form. Brandishing her own wand, the woman began to cast spell after spell. Their colourful shades layered atop one another, forming a three-dimensional rainbow spectrum that provided a frightening contrast to the sallow skin, sickly bruising and stark robes. She was healing Severus.

 

Nearly a full minute into this, Molly visibly shook herself aware and hurried out of the room in search of medical potions. Upon returning, she placed the satchel beside Madame Pomfrey and turned her own attention to Harry.

“Ronald, help me with Harry. Fred, George, wait beside Poppy. Do whatever she asks of you.” As the youngest Weasley carefully propped his friend up on his lap, head cradled in a gentle freckled arm, Molly rifled through the bag, selecting a small number of potions.

“Tilt his head back a little. Yes, like that. If he starts to choke, turn him to the side. Be careful of that blood- Oh well. It can be cleaned.” With that, she began to feed the teenager phial after phial: Vulneratis Rasalae, Ramuan Coagulare, Dreamless Sleep, plus a low-grade Relevio Dolor. Finally, she moved onto spells, incanting a pain relieving spell,

“ **Indolere!** ”, complete with its circle and flick, which was quickly followed by another spell to ensure that Harry would not have lost too much blood,

“ **Esse completum sanguinum!** ” the more minor enchantment being sufficient for his sluggishly bleeding scar.

 

“Mum…”

“Yes Ron?” She spared a second glance for him. His hands trembled, even as one carded unconsciously through his friend’s hair.

“Do you… do you think this is going to start happening all the time again?” Sensing the vulnerability in her boy, Molly was quick to try and reassure him. Despite the little reassurance she had available.

“He’ll be fine. You know our Harry, he’s a strong young man. Don’t you worry yourself now. Why don’t you pick him up – carefully mind – and get him onto that sofa there? I’ll see if I can’t help Poppy with Severus."

 

 

It took over twelve hours for Harry’s eyes to flutter open, flinching away from the light, and his hand to subconsciously twitch away from his body, towards that of the Potions Master. A slurred hiss escaped his lips, forming something incoherent, if urgent-sounding.

“Harry!” Ron immediately quietened at his friend’s wince.

“Sorry mate. How are you feeling?” His tone was far more subdued this time round. Seeing Harry in pain was… disconcerting. Ron hated it.

“A-alright. But S-s-severus?” Once again, he half-hissed the man’s name, sliding jaggedly over the syllables.

“Snape’s pretty much fine. Pomfrey reckons he just needs to sleep or whatever. But what about you mate? Does it still hurt much? What about your scar?”

“’m fine.” And now a hint of indignation coloured the younger teen’s tone; his disregard for his own health was greater than ever.

 

Particularly as Harry started to lever himself up onto his elbows, turning his head to the still-sleeping form of Severus. The man was deathly pale, tucked under several layers of quilted blankets, his dark hair a welcome smudge, a halo almost, amongst the stark white of the pillow. His eyelids twitched faintly, lashes and under-eye bags another example of black-purple ink smeared onto parchment.

But he was breathing.

“Thank Merlin.” And with that sigh of relief, Harry slumped back into his own blankets and promptly passed out.

 

The strong smell of onions was what roused both men the next day.

“Wha…?” Harry groaned, groggy and stiff.

“Such eloquence Harry. Truly stunning,” came the snide croak.

“Severus!” the younger yelped, turning his entire attention to said man. As their gazes caught, any awareness of Hermione and Ginny, the only other occupants of the room, faded.

“Yes, Potter?” The arch words, laced with traces of teasing humour, caused the teen to collapse onto his back, trembling with giggles, half-hysterical, all-relieved. Severus was okay if he was this snarky.

 

“Um- Harry-” Ginny started, before faltering and turning pleading eyes to Hermione.

“You two! You need to eat, so hush and take these,” with the forceful words, the older girl shoved a potion at each of their faces, then a second, finally followed by bowls of onion soup and bread. Light enough not to rebel against them, hopefully. As they devoured their meal, Harry and Severus listened to Hermione’s part-lecture, part-scolding:

“- very foolish! If you suspected that something was wrong, then you shouldn’t have gone along with proceedings. Honestly! And you, Harry, you should’ve blocked the connection the instant you began to feel pain. The Dark Lord partially possessed you for several instances! You’re both very lucky that Madame Pomfrey was here to summon you back, Professor, else you likely would have died and you, Harry, might well have joined him! You're not even seventeen yet! You’d better be thanking Mrs. Weasley too, mind! And Ron and the twins! Without the five of them, I dread to think what might have happened!” For the first time in nearly five minutes, the witch took a noticeable breath. Her hands still didn’t leave their staunch position on her hips however. Harry resisted the urge to sigh.

“Regardless, the two of you have been in here for nearly two days now, and there shouldn’t be anything but lingering pains, tremors and fatigue, according to Madame Pomfrey. That means strictly bedrest for at least another day, possibly two. No magic, two books each today, another two tomorrow and light meals. In addition to a few potions. Is that clear?”

 

Severus, never having received a full-blown ‘I might as well be your mother because I’m in charge and everything I say is imperative, not to mention fully correct’ Hermione lecture, was speechless, if outwardly composed and aloof. So Harry took over.

“Yes Hermione, we understand. It wasn’t the… most advisable route to have taken, but it turned out alright in the end. We’re here and we’re safe. Alive. Severus’ status as a spy may be known, but we can protect him. And of course we’ll be thanking everyone.” Seemingly mollified, the girl nodded resolutely. Then she and Ginny, who had been oddly quiet the whole time, collected the phials and crockery before leaving with a final instruction to rest.

 

Within ten minutes, Harry had swung himself out of his bed and, primarily using the momentum from that, stumbled to Severus’ bedside to flop into the armchair at its head.

“Hey.”

“Good day Mr. Potter.” The elder’s tone was light though.

“Are you alright? Really? How bad’s the pain?” Severus visibly hesitated for a moment before closing his eyes in contemplation,

“I’m fine, thank you. The potions have dealt with any… discomfort.”

“Same.” With Harry’s casual, instantaneous reply, Severus found himself relaxing once more, drawn out of his shell yet for once comfortable with it.

“I- I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you. I should’ve-” Idiot brat.

“Don’t be absurd," the words were cutting, yet behind the sting was a soft warmth. But Harry still couldn’t bring himself to look at the other wizard.

“Harry. Harry, listen to me. What happened was not your fault, nor should you have done anything beyond that which you did. You allowed Poppy to bring me back here, and that is all I would’ve asked of you. More perhaps. So, Harry? I thank you for that.”

 

Swallowing his pride was well worth it when a trembling body shot off its seat to embrace Severus clumsily, shoulders jumping as though with tears, even as Harry’s eyes stayed dry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the litany of distraught apologies continued, even as Harry clutched desperately at the elder’s bedclothes. Severus could only hold him tightly in return, hoping the fit of dry crying would end sooner rather than later. For one, the sight of Harry so emotional was discomforting to say the least. Holding an upset young man together was not his forte. And, whilst it did take far longer than Severus wanted to contemplate, the sobbing eased off as Harry tumbled back into unconsciousness.

But, even as he clumsily dragged the Chosen One back to his own bed, the echo of Harry’s apologies did stop haunting his mind.

 

 

\------------------------------------

 

  **Vulneratis Fomenta** \- the wound soothing potion, lit. soothing of wounds, side effects include lethargy and possible hallucinations if the patient remains conscious due to opium-rich content. This potion promotes healing and rest whilst acting as a painkiller. Ingredients include 6x poppy seeds; 5x lavender sprigs; 2x sloth claws; 20x peppermint leaves; 5x mistletoe berries; 100g Valerian root; 16x Sopophorus beans; 3x shrivelfigs.

 

 **Ramuan coagulare** – coagulant potion, lit. concoction to coagulate, side effects include lethargy and drowsiness.  Primarily used for patients with serious bleeding, both internal and external, to slow the flow of blood and aid any blood replenishers given. Ingredients include bat saliva; slugs; sap of a mountain ash; Valerian root; leaches' suckers; leaches' blood; fennel; lavender roots; lavender flowers.

 

 **Relevio dolor** – basic pain reliever, lit. relieving pain, side effects include drowsiness and confusion. Used for a range of more minor injuries, from scraped knees, stomach aches to shallow lacerations, or when many potions are being prescribed thanks to its unreactivity. Ingredients include poppy seeds; willow bark; dock roots; mistletoe berries; bubotuber pus; robin's feathers; red clover; rabbit whiskers.

 

 **Indolore** – basic pain relieving spell, lit. be painless, preformed via circle motion, followed by a sharp flick away from patient. This spell is used to best effect when in conjunction with the basic pain relieving potion.

 

 **Esse completum sanguinum** – blood replenishing spell, lit. be complete of blood, a wave with even peaks and troughs started above the patient’s heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an additional little side-story, snippet-type-thing in my auxiliary work that occurs between this chapter and chapter 14 - go check it out!


	14. Reassurances And Realities.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Severus are growing ever closer, helping each other to cope with everything around them. Meanwhile, Ron gets a little reality-check, but only a small one.

 

After a handful of minimally-active, nightmare-riddled days and nights, Harry and Severus were once again returning to their standard routine.

 

But they were a little different to before.  
It was in the mutual things: a casual attitude to each other’s personal space; a growing ability to understand the subtleties of each other’s tone and body language; the tacit understanding of each other and their experiences. These somewhat grander notions manifested themselves in the less noticeable habits: leaning slightly towards each other when sat side-by-side; the demanding distractions of some fictional training from an escalating situation; the familiarity of silent companionship replacing the useless platitudes of outside parties. They shielded each other from prying eyes and ears and tongues; provided each other with respite and empathy from memories-turned-nightmares.

 

Most of the other household members, well most of the Order, noticed none of this. However, it was undeniable that the two had shared a room for the better part of a week without a murder or maiming, a feat that wouldn’t have been possible even months ago. It was also rather blatant that the pair were rarely noted apart. After all, Severus was, like Harry, marooned in Grimmauld Place and apparently there was a certain solidarity in that.

 

What nobody knew was that their true solidarity was the horror of Voldemort. And having to deal with that.

 

“Harry, Harry. You need to wake up. You’re in Grimmauld Place, with me, with Severus. Harry? Harry!” Finally, the teenager jolted awake. Severus instantly grabbed the wrist of a brandished wand-hand, stopping it mere inches from his own throat. The man’s other hand came to rest against the younger’s cheek, cupping the clammy skin with a gentle kind of pressure that spoke volumes that neither man could or would verbally articulate.

“Can you hear me?” There was no response for a few too many seconds, so Severus prompted him,

“Harry? Come on brat, focus on me. Do you know where we are? Tell me.” At the more demanding tone, the last of the glaze left Harry’s eyes and abyssal pupils, wide in fear and darkness, found the elder’s.

“Sev’rus,” he rasped, before coughing lightly, unfortunately dislodging the comforting palm,

“S-sorry. Nightmare.”

“I would never have guessed,” came the dry reply. Harry could only smile faintly, trembling, as Severus perched on the edge of his bed, still ensnaring his wrist with a potion-stained hand. So Harry poked the other's thigh once in retaliation, before relaxing back into bed again.

 

“Will ten minutes suffice?”

“If you don’t mind.” Neither found any awkwardness or shame in the blatant comfort. It was equivalent exchange of sorts. One instance, Harry would have a nightmare and Severus would drag him away from it. The next, it may well be vice versa. The situation was not one that anybody else was really aware of, beyond perhaps that the two of them rarely had a full night’s sleep. But, truthfully, it was quite inconsequential to most of their fellow Order members, moreso for Severus. The man could profess few true allies, Harry being the staunchest, albeit discretely. Poppy, certainly. Minerva and Flitwick were always willing to talk to him. Lupin, curiously, was distinctly amicable and Molly Weasley insisted on mothering him. Although the latter was perhaps due to Harry’s company. Most of the children, or indeed the adults, that he’d taught were courteous out of only respect for his position and for Harry. Severus was acutely aware of how many, a certain redhead in particular, were scornful of him. Who hated and spurned him. It didn’t hurt though, not after so many years of being the outcast, the oddity, the freak. The few that did remain by his side were all the more treasured for this. Lily, Albus, Harry. There was nobody more important.

 

 

Dragging himself from such thoughts, Severus refocused on Harry. At least the young man seemed to be drifting back to sleep now. The dark bags beneath the other wizard’s eyes continued to worry Severus, even as he understood their existence. He himself sported similar marks. This war was taking its toll on everyone, and few so much as they. Particularly Harry.

 

Dammit, he kept on getting distracted. At least Harry was asleep again now. With any luck, they’d both sleep the rest of the night through. Gently releasing the bony wrist to lay, tucked by its owner’s hip, back on the bed, Severus slowly rose from the bed to shuffle quietly to his own. The blankets had a chill to them by now, so he cast a quick warming charm before slipping under them and, whispering a ‘Nox’, falling back into his own dreams. Unknown to them both, it took only a few minutes for their soft, deep breathing to synchronise, sounding as one.

 

The next morning, the two rushed through breakfast before returning to the basement to train. Duelling practice was one of their favourite activities, despite the grave undertone, as it afforded a true release of energy and a strong representation of how far Harry had already progressed. For example:

“ **Speculus densus!** ” A pearlescent dome shimmered into existence, wrapping a few metres in front of the young man, followed in a breath by two red beams of light, ‘ **Expelliarmus’** no doubt, and a sky blue crackle of energy. Hm… lightning ropes perhaps? As the hex splashed against the battered walls, it did indeed transform into a sparking web of thin ropes, curling uselessly around the flat surface. Clever boy. But not clever enough.

 

Dancing further to the side, Severus shot out a quick volley of ‘ **Bombarda** ’s. Striking the shield at an angle, they successfully fractured its surface, unbeknown to Harry. Then it took the elder a single well-placed,  
“ **Frango!** ” for the shield to go flying back towards Harry in potentially-lethal shards. But it was not to be as the younger wizard slashed his wand desperately and caused a gust of wind, almost visible in its sheer strength, that knocked the shrapnel off course, ricocheting away from the resultant crossfire. For nearly three full minutes, the two exchanged hexes in a blur of colour and magical energy. Tripping, blinding, blood-boiling, tickling and frost curses all made their way through the room, bandied about instantaneously, deflected or dodged, blocked or cancelled. It was as much a game as a fight, a mockery of true combat yet just as fast-paced and destructive.

 

Neither noticed a red-haired figure begin to descend the basement stairs, before it stopped near the base and stood, gaping, before retreating upstairs once more without a word. Ron returned to the other residents of Grimmauld Place, pale and near-speechless.

“I- I don’t think they’d appreciate being interrupted right now. Maybe… Maybe we should just save them some food?” And despite receiving a number of odd glances from around the table and a few questions from Hermione, Ron simply shook his head and began eating. Whatever that duel was it was… intense, insane. Just gaining their attention would have been difficult. And in doing so, he’d probably get attacked by hexes! No thank you, he’d leave the two be. Let them get hungry enough to come up by themselves. He had a lunch to enjoy.

 

It wasn’t until the lunch dishes were being stacked by the sink pre-washing that Harry and Severus stumbled back up to the ground floor, bruised and limping, stomachs growling.

“The leftovers?” Severus immediately asked, converse to Harry’s resigned expression at the apparent lack of food left. Funnily enough, only Severus and the twins picked up on his faint regret. Although the young man instantly perked up as Molly indicated a covered serving plate,

“There, you two. Sorry you have to share a plate, but Kingsley dropped in unexpectedly. Roast beef sandwiches, some salad and two blueberry muffins. Be sure to eat up now, the pair of you are far too skinny!” And with that admonishment, the woman bustled out of the room, ushering most of the teenagers with her, plus the twins. From their groans and moans, they were going to be cleaning. Harry didn’t envy them.

 

Levitating the plate over to the table where they’d slumped side-by-side, they each took a sandwich and dug in. Devouring their food, the two were probably eating too quickly, both leaning silently over their shared plate, shoulder to shoulder, but were too tired and hungry to particularly care. It had been an exhausting duel, and all the more fun for it. Despite the gravity of their reasons, the training was fun. Spending time together was… calming and challenging all at once. Their personalities simultaneously clashed and complimented. Sore subjects caused arguments, but ultimately the other’s company was soothing, alleviating the aches of past and worries of future. Neither were bright but the present was light and comfortable. So they spent every moment they could spare together and were grateful for the distraction is provided. Right now they needed nothing more.

 

 

\------------------------------------------

 

 

 **Speculus densus**   - Mirror shield, lit. thick/crowded mirror, conjures an opaque, reflective shield that bounces spells back away whilst allowing the caster’s spells to pass through

 **Telae fulmen** \- Lightning ropes, lit. lightning web, materialises into a web of thin ropes that crackle with weak electricity, it automatically curls around the target fully, preventing movement of arms and/or legs.

 **Frango** – shatter, lit. shatter/fracture/break up, a powerful blow, designed primarily for quasi-physical shields, which can create shrapnel that flies back towards the shield’s caster.

 

 


	15. Debate And Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is frustrated but still takes charge despite that, or perhaps because of it, who knows. Severus just supports him.

 

 

Severus gaped at the teen, although his mouth did not hang open, he was not some gormless child,  
“What…” for once speechless. Of all the foolish, irrevocable, genius things to do. So typical of Harry.

 

“I know it was dangerous, but it wasn’t stupid,” Harry began to babble,  
“I need more power. Or at least to be able to concentrate what I have. And if-”

“It’s fine Harry, it’s fine. I understand and it does make a degree of sense,” as the younger man’s expression went from confusion to relief, he added a note of warning to his tone,  
“However, before making such decisions in the future, I’d ask that you discuss them with me first. As equals. I shan’t be lecturing you.” He was scrutinised with a critical green eye for a few moments,  
“I know Severus. I know. But most everyone treats me as a child or their saviour. It’s hard to expect or accept anything else sometimes.” At the profound sadness, tempered by resignation, in that statement, Severus spontaneously pulled him into an embrace. An embrace which Harry immediately melted into, gripping into the fabric over the elder’s shoulder blades, his face buried against a collarbone, glasses digging in with a pain that both ignored. Somehow, no tears splashed onto the lenses.

 

“Harry! Severus! We need you both!” At the unexpected shout, echoing through the dingy house, the two jerked apart. Neither could look directly at the other.

“Thanks Severus. Sorry,” came the murmur as the teen turned towards the door, head lowered to the ground.

 

“Harry…” the Potions Master couldn’t resist reaching for his shoulder, gently turning him back towards the man. Harry licked his lips nervously as Severus’ other hand came up to raise his chin, tilting his face towards the elder. He could feel the man’s gaze burning into him, smouldering. Vaguely, he recognised that the eyes were not black as he’d always assumed, but rather a deep amber; warm and aged like a fine bourbon whiskey, with rings of ebony. And then those same eyes were growing larger, getting closer, as their two bodies moved towards each other, one stooping, the other rising onto tiptoes. Five inches, four, three- Harry closed his own eyes in anticipation, fear. In hope. He could feel breaths ghosting across his nose and cheeks.

 

And then dry, chapped lips were resting lightly upon his temple, barely there but sending a fiery wave through his skin all the same. Neither of them dared breathe, frozen in an intimate tableau.

 

It took a few moments, but by tacit agreement they stepped away from each other.

“Harry? Severus?”

“Coming!” called Harry in reply. The entire journey down to the dining room, he could feel the Potions Master’s gaze upon his back.

 

“What took you so long mate?” Ron asked as Harry stepped into the room.

“Put a few books back in place first. And finished our conversation.”

“Oh, right. Forgot you still talk to Snape,” the redhead huffed, a distinct spark of anger to the words. His best-friend merely rolled his eyes.

“Ron, there’s no point in petty rivalries anymore. We’re all on the same side of this war.”

“Still. Doesn’t change that he’s a Slytherin. Or a slimy git.”

“Leave it Ron. We’re here for a reason right now anyway, so save it. Okay?” The older teen stared in something between horror, indignation and bemusement, “Alright, alright, whatever.” Although it didn’t prevent him glaring daggers when the Potions Master took the seat to Harry’s other side.

 

Not even a minute later, everyone was seated around the long kitchen table and being called to order -- ha ha --by McGonagall.

“If I may have all your attention? Thank you. Now, Remus, what have you to report o-” Her gaze had been wandering around the group even as she addressed the werewolf, ensuring that everyone was listening. She’d frozen upon noticing Harry. Or more specifically, the tattoos adorning his knuckles.

“Mr. Potter! What _have_ you done?!” And now everyone’s gazes snapped to him. Several more outcries joined the headmistress’, but the teen quelled them all with a venomous glare,  
“If we’re relying on me to defeat Voldemort, then I need to be more powerful.”

“But this-!”

“It’s not Dark Arts, and I haven’t sold my soul.” There was an unspoken _‘yet’_ weighing on the words, dragging at his audience, clawing at their nerves and hearts alike. They were all too aware that Harry would willingly tear himself apart for this war. And they’d let him; encourage him.

 

“Potter, how many did you get?”

“Seventeen,” came the calm reply, no hint of indignation or defensiveness.

“Seventeen?! Where?” Moody demanded, almost hysterical – a sight that shocked the inhabitants of the room, even if not all of them showed it.

“Knuckles, as you can see. One per ankle, per hipbone and per collarbone. Plus one at the base of my sternum.”

“Boy,” the veteran growled, “Do you even-”

“With all respect Moody, I knew exactly what I was doing. They’re nothing if not a double-edged sword, and I was prepared for that when I decided to get them. And I am no _boy,_ even if it is still - what? - two days until I'm technically of age.”

“But what are these tattoos?” Hermione burst out, curiosity and worry warring in her eyes,  
“I understand some of the basic principles of pentacles-“

“They’re dangerous grey magic, is what they are girly. They allow a foolhardy wizard to use his body as a conduit for his magic, rather than his wand. But it burns him up from the inside out. Oh, it won’t kill him directly, it’ll leave him an empty shell. Nothing.” At the Auror’s explanation, the young woman turned to her best-friend, understanding replacing most of the curiosity, all blanketed by smothering concern.

“Oh Harry-”

“Don’t Mione. There’s no point. What’s done is done, and I don’t regret it. I can’t. So can we focus now? Remus, the werewolves?” 

“Ah, yes,” the weary, ragged man cleared his throat before continuing on.

 

As the werewolf launched into his report, Severus could not resist giving Harry’s knee a brief tap of approval and support. The teen’s expression lightened a little at the reassuring contact. Nobody noticed the exchange, intent upon the war effort as they were, but it was just what the younger man needed. And Severus simply had to show his appreciation for so Slytherin a move: simultaneously guilt tripping and changing the subject? No mean feat – at least, not when it worked. And, well, it was Harry, who seemed to possess an allure that the Potions Master could not deny recently.

 

Throwing off such thoughts, both Harry and Severus fully turned their attention to the meeting.

“Several of the packs are willing to agree to neutrality – namely those who are strongly opposed to Greyback. But the majority won’t even consent to discussions, let alone alliances or even just a promise of non-participation. The overall sway is undeniably towards You-Kno-”

“Could we use my name to get audiences with them? Because surely if we could get them to talk, we could get them realise how Voldemort’s side is just going to betray them,” Harry interrupted. The words were confident, if questioning, and he didn’t shrink back at the confused and almost accusing looks turned his way.

“What to do you mean Harry?”

“I understand that the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ may not have as much sway amongst the werewolves as amongst wizards, but it’s got to count for-”

“No, no, not that. But what did you mean that the Dark’s going to betray them?” And several others around the room nodded, seeming to share the same bewilderment as Lupin.

 

“Isn’t it obvious? Voldemort’s going to call them all to the frontline, get them all killed, then ensure _his_ Ministry policies are even harsher on ‘Dark Creatures’ so that the remains can’t rise back up against him.”

 

“…What?” Near enough the entire table looked gobsmacked and Severus sneered at them. Harry was right of course. And were they really still so naïve so as to believe that the Dark Lord rewarded his loyal followers? Not even Dumbledore had truly defended and rewarded all of his pawns. Look at Black after all.

“But Mr. Potter, surely not?” McGonagall appeared almost terrified by the realisation.

“Of course! Who do you think we’ve been dealing with all these years? Voldemort’s a heartless bastard: he manipulates and uses people then throws them away like the useless trash he sees them as. He’s hardly a fairy princess, all unicorns and rainbows, now is he? What do you fucking _expect?”_ He hissed, clearly angered by the blatant lack of awareness and realism present in the room.

 

And yet again, the room was shocked into silence by the teen.

 

“I- We- I never thought-” The Headmistress stumbled over her words once again, no less gobsmacked than her peers.

“No _Minerva_ , you _didn’t_ think, did you? None of you did. It’s a bloody miracle when you do,” the young man sneered in return, “And I’m _fucking_ _sick_ of it! Stop acting like a bunch of Firsties and grow up – the lot of you! This is war, and you know it, so act like it is dammit! Or I’ll just go and defeat Voldemort and the Death Eaters by myself! Fuck you all!”

 

In a burst of violent movement that had several people flinching back, the Boy-Who-Lived shot onto his feet, chair nearly toppling over, before turning away from the group to pace with measured, calculated, reigned-in-fury steps, blatantly ignoring them all. A constant explosion of white-hot sparks spat from his fingertips and his furious footsteps left faint scorch marks on the slate. Still nobody spoke. Severus wondered if they understood how lucky they were that Harry had not simply stormed out, as he would have only months ago. Or set the room on fire, judging from the wild magic. Ah, well.

 

“I think, perhaps, that Harry’s idea has some merit. Between Lupin and himself, the creatures should be willing to at least hear them out. And even that little is better than nothing.” The teen’s steps nearly – nearly – faltered at the Potion Master’s words, but apparently the amount of rage abated wasn’t sufficient just yet.

“I think… I think that would work. Any further ideas on that?” Remus asked, almost hesitantly directing the words towards his honorary godson.

 

“We take a third person. A proper fighter – but someone the werewolves won’t immediately distrust. And someone who by going could be seen as placing themselves in a precarious position. Of course, it will be one we can safeguard in such a case that the information is abused, but it will be a gesture of… goodwill either way, to risk one of our own so. And they’ll see that.”

“I… Okay. Any volunteers?”

"I should fit all the criteria, should I not?” Severus found himself saying. His own surprise at the offer was easily masked, though he got the feeling that the damn brat still sensed it.

“You’re correct Severus. So then, the three of us, emergency portkeys – and I mean emergency, like about to die, else it’ll give off the entirely wrong message – and an agenda to achieve sworn neutrality from at least half the packs. Have I missed anything? Excepting that it will have to wait until August.”

 

Harry had stopped pacing now, halted to face the group, subtly cataloguing all of their reactions: who was the first to make the same connections he had; who seemed to contest the role of command he had temporarily adopted; who was simply inclined to nod along.

“Mr. Potter, do you not think we should aim to bring as many of them over to our side as possible?”

“Not at all,” he replied, nonchalant and self-assured in contradicting the powerful witch yet again,  
“Oh, of course we’ll appear to try for that but by offering an extreme that they won’t be expecting, because that's a stupid idea, we’ll throw them off balance and make it far easier to manipulate them to agree to our true objectives. Because, unless I’ve interpreted Remus’ reports wrong, then at best we’d have the support of one or two, maybe three packs. That’s hardly enough to make a true difference.”

 

And dammit all if the boy wasn’t a natural Slytherin with that kind of reasoning. And Minerva seem to be realising it, along with the rest of the assembled Order. About time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the very first scene I ever wrote for this fic, so I'm really excited to finally be publishing it! Also, if there are any odd name/address/even plot choices then I've missed any alterations during editing and please feel free to tell me about them!  
> Thanks as always, and hoping you're still enjoying this -  
> Otaku6337. Xxx


	16. A Mistake Or Not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins to reveal his theoretical prowess to his friends. Then, high-strung emotions take their toll (in other words, Harry and Severus are growing closer and falling apart all at the same time and it's incredibly frustrating).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note, this fic has both a YOUTUBE PLAYLIST, which gets added to occasionally, and now a SIDE-FIC (called 'And All The Hours In Between') of sorts? Which is basically just extra one-shots, theory, character POVs and more, so go check them out! Hopefully, the playlist is linked below!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2JbnT-CZHEcUJnkNmi9iiNumqgt30_C9

 

Later that evening, Severus was just gathering some books in preparation to leave for the night when five sets of footsteps came into the library and sat themselves around the fireplace. He was about to sweep out regardless when they began to talk. And, well, instinct dictated he at least ensure the conversation was of no significance or other interest. Good thing too, as it was rather.

 

“Tell us more about these tattoos Harry. Now.” Four others made noises of curiosity and agreement. Odd. He’d only heard five people enter. Or not, considering that Harry was rather good at sneaking around. Being silent was a part of that. Severus could almost feel the eyebrow the younger surely raised in return to Granger’s bossiness and the entire group’s insistence. Just to be on the safe side, Severus cast a wordless Disillusionment charm over himself. And settled down to listen in.

 

“They’re just a power-boost really Hermione. And a better conduit for wandless magic. They’ll allow me more concentration.”

“But why are they so dangerous? Moody made them sound borderline Dark Arts- ”

“That’s because they are!” Burst a Weasley – Ronald from the sound of it.

“And what Moody described…” Hermione trailed off.

“Firstly: don’t be stupid Ron. Most things that boost your power at the detriment of something else are classified as Dark or at least Shade magic - Grey magic, sorry. So these are Grey, yes, but I weighed the risks up and got them anyway.”

“But at how serious a ‘detriment’ Harry?”

“It’s nothing too important.” And now he could picture the airy wave of the ma- of the boy’s hand, all casual confidence. A mask, even with his friends.

“Harry!” All five voices of said friends cried out, and Severus wasn’t half tempted to add his own to the mix, despite the fact that he was eavesdropping.

“Yes?” came the arch reply.

“What will it affect? Your mind? Your magic? Your body? All of them? What?” Typical Granger with her incessant questions. Albeit decent ones this time.

“There’s really no need to worry.”

“That’s exactly why we-”  
“need to worry!” Hm, credit to the twins, they at least knew Harry well enough to understand that much about him. Self-sacrificing Gryffindor fool that he was.

 

 

“Okay – stop! I get it, you’re worried and I appreciate that. But I have to be more powerful. If this is what it takes, then so be it.” And apparently that was the end of that argument as all his friends released long, resigned sighs of exasperation. Then Granger spoke up once more,  
“So why seventeen? And why those locations?”

 

There were several seconds pause as Harry gathered his thoughts. When it came, the answer astounded Severus. He really should be used to this by now.

“Do you guys know the magical and spiritual properties of the number seventeen?” Even Granger and Ginevra – who’d both taken Arithmancy – shook their heads.

“Well, there are a few. The primary is that seventeen is considered a junction between the material or terrestrial world and the celestial. That makes it perfect for channelling magic. But beyond that, it is also thought to represent the evolution of the Cosmos and its tendency towards karmic liberation. Similarly, in the Book of Balance, it is used as the base for all balance – those two properties make it ideal for targeting an imbalance like Voldemort. There are less relevant factors, like some ancients separating the sky into seventeen layers – making it a heavenly number – and in the Bible the Pentecost was comprised of seventeen peoples and nations, making it a union number. So, overall, it’s ideal for wandless magic.”

“That’s… really well-thought-out.” Severus privately agreed. How could he not?

“Eh. It's a thing,” the teen replied, obviously a little hesitant to acknowledge any sort of skill or hidden prowess.

 

 

“So… their placements?”

“Well… originally I was going to base it off of the meridians in the body – those are focussed in the wrong areas though, mainly the torso. So I looked deeper into similar systems of the body. An interesting one was Chakra points. That’s why I got the one on my torso – in between the Naval and Solar Plexus Chakras. With this, there should be a focus on will, emotions and my shadow self. It’ll respect life, power and growth. Exactly what I need. The skin is thin at the knuckles and ankle bones, which will allow me easier access and use of my magic. Having pentacles at my collarbones is similar, but they also ground the magic and connect it to my body, my skeleton – to both death and protection. And it’s a link between the main flow of magic and my mind – like the hip ones draw the magic down from my torso to spread through my entire body.”  
And yet again the entire room gaped at Harry. Where had he gotten all this information? When? He must have been planning for months, if not years…

“You sound like ‘Mione mate,” Ron complained. Only Severus noticed how fake the replying laugh was.

“Yeh, well... I'm tired, so I’m gonna head up to bed. See you guys.” And with that Harry left, carefully sweeping the door open so that it took just a few extra seconds to shut behind him. Allowing Severus to follow him out and up to the brat's room.

 

“Come in Severus,” he murmured as the door knob twisted. So Severus did.

“I know you heard all of that. So what did you think?”

“That your friends are utter dunderheads who shouldn’t have passed their examinations. How are they so blind?” Harry sent a long, considering look at his older friend as they both settled down, Harry perched on top of his desk, bony hands clasping the edge of the mahogany between his knees whilst Severus delicately lowering himself onto the bed, his black curtain swept by deft fingers back into a tie, out of his eyes. All the better to observe Harry with.

“They see only what I let them, I suppose. I’ve never shared my secrets with anyone, why would I have started at eleven? Or now?” Severus’ temper was fanned in understanding.

“Because, idiot brat, whilst many are not worth trusting, there are a number who are. Those that care for you and would use their very lives to keep your secrets as exactly that.” An evergreen blaze flared instantly into life, pupils dilating as though to swallow it up.

“No there isn’t! Not when I was a kid, and not now! I am alone! I- I always have been and I always will be. I don’t need to change that; I’ve managed well enough-”

 

But Severus had heard enough.

“Be quiet, you idiot brat!” He hissed, all venom and vitriol. As he surged to his feet and strode towards Harry, he went on,

“Even I, who for so long misunderstood and thus hated you, can truthfully say I would both kill and die for you. Not the Boy-Who-Lived, not the 'Chosen One', but _Harry_ _Potter_. I would tear worlds apart and never let another word past my lips if that was what it took. Do you understand Harry? Do you?” And here Severus pushed the young man's knees further apart, nearly dislodging him from the desk, and placed himself between them, faces scant inches apart

“You are not alone,” Severus murmured against his lips. Before crushing their mouths together in a kiss. It was not long, but it enveloped Harry’s face in a flush, his eyes glazed over and his breath shortened. Severus was kissing him. And yes, it was far from a fairy-tale moment: all temper and melancholy, spittle-flecked cheeks from furiously-spoken words, yet the taste was bitter dark coffee intermingled with the sugar from the pudding Molly had forced upon them and oh-so-wonderful. Two calloused hands gripped too hard at the base of his neck and tugged almost painfully at his hair.

  
It was a passion, protective and poisonous, that Harry had never known.

 

Only a few too-short seconds later, Severus tore himself several steps back. Half-shocked and half-trying-to-follow, Harry fought not to fall flat on his face. Speechless, the two could only stare at each other: all saliva and red marks and wide eyes; tousled locks, Severus’ hair tie lost somewhere on the panelled floor.

“I… apologise Ha- Potter. I should not have done that. I… I bid you goodnight and will see you upon the usual time in the morning.”  
Harry couldn’t move as the older man, the older man who had just kissed him so fiercely, visibly chilled and closed off within a sentence, then left the room.

He was almost shell-shocked enough to miss the quiet words from behind the closing door.

“I meant what I said though. Do not forget it.”

 

It was a restless, melancholy night for them both.

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

And, to distract you from the angst-fluff of that kiss, here's the explanation of Dark, Shade and Light Magicks:

 

_[excerpt from 'Magickal Theorie Fore The Discerning Wizarde, re-published and annotated by Lucretia Wells in 1990]_

 

_'Magicks' is a generalised, if now somewhat archaic term, for magic itself, as an entity and individual power, not merely as a tool to be utilised by its conductors. They fall naturally into three alignments, or categories: Light Magicks, Grey (previously: Shade) Magicks and Dark Magicks. Within the last century however, these classifications have become twisted by politics and (il)legalities._

 

_Despite prevalent twentieth-century perception, a great deal of Grey and Dark Magicks are not truly 'evil' or 'malicious'. Of course, any spell can be utilised in a way that would be as such, but that is the choice of the wizard or witch, not the predilection of the spell itself. But a spell that can create a vaporising shield could be utilised for both 'good' and 'bad' purposes, dependent upon one's intentions, morals and biases. As such, it is the author's belief that one should not limit oneself to any one magical alignment, but instead one should endeavor to learn all legal spells, regardless of categorisation._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of love, kind of hate how this chapter ends but, you know, it's a thing. Thanks for putting up with me! Xx
> 
> PS: Don't forget to check out the next work in this series, kay guys? It's attached and called 'AND ALL THE HOURS IN BETWEEN'. Enjoy!


	17. Awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Harry try to remain focused; luckily certain realisations serve to distract them.

 

The next morning was, despite its stilted awkwardness, still very much productive.

  
Fuelled by another breakfast that Harry himself prepared for the entire household, he and Severus sequestered themselves in the basement, fresh cobwebs casting eerie shadows upon the cracked walls, layer upon layer of contrasting fractures, the candle-cast illusions yet more menacing than the true patterns. Yet the two were ignorant of such details, pushed to the back of their minds in preference of their training. The events of the previous evening joined the creepiness of their surroundings in hidden mental recesses.

 

“Again!” Once more, Harry summoned a shield. And with a single hex it was shattered by Severus.

“ **Protego** **optimo**!” Unprompted this time, he conjured the silvery-blue spell. Only to have it destroyed with a cool word and dismissive flick. Frustration building despite his well-earned Occlumency proficiency, Harry let his magic guide him,

“ **Protimo**!” A dazzling latticework of thin metallic strands sprang into being and retaliated Severus’ automatic spell directly back at the man, only giving a small bounce in its own structure. Yet the burst of red light that the elder dodged didn’t merely splash against the wall. Oh no. Instead it burst into shards, forming a small crater in the process. Its strength had over trebled.

For a solid second, flabbergasted silence reigned.

 

“ _Harry James Potter_ , you should not have attempted that! Spell mutations are highly advanced magics beyond even your abilities! Are you so foolish as to-”

“Is that what I did?” The angry flush rushed from Severus’ skin dramatically as he took in the guileless words.

“You- you were not aware of what you just tried – successfully at that?”

“No? I just followed my magic’s intent.”

“Your magic’s… intent.” The tone was neither contemptuous nor disbelieving… more thoroughly bewildered. And Severus’ evident confusion only added to Harry’s.

“But an individual’s magic having such as degree of sentience is nigh-on mythical. A rumour from Merlin’s time at best. Are you sure you haven’t read mention of spell mutating or amalgamation before?”

“I guess; the term once or twice? But I’ve never had the chance to find out about it beyond that, no.”

“How remarkable. Utterly unheard of… I’d dismiss it in anyone else…But he can rarely lie to me…” And here Severus devolved into too-low muttering as he paced the flagstones in front of the reflected spell’s point of impact, kicking up small puffs of new dust with every step. Harry just watched on, rather shocked. Was his magic really that weird?

 

 

Abruptly Severus stilled, spinning to face Harry. The teen was jolted out of his own thoughts with the sudden stillness.

“Come Harry, we must consult the library.” With that the Potions Master swept to the stairs and up them, out of sight.

“…Okay?” came the baffled murmur in reply. It was the first time that day that Severus had called him by his given name, and the combination of all the seemingly random changes and revelations in the last few minutes were confounding at best. But unable to deny his thirst for answers, Harry swiftly trailed after the elder.

Two hours later, Severus rose to his feet and stretched, cat-like, the long lines and gentle arcs of his body attracting Harry’s gaze. But as soon as the man turned to face him, the young man roused himself and darted his attention back to the books open in front of him.

“I believe that you are cooking dinner tonight, and there seems to be little progress to be made here right now. Perhaps we should head downstairs?” Allowing his eyes to fall upon the Potions Master once more, Harry nodded in agreement. He admittedly felt a little ashamed of… checking out the older man, despite their odd relationship. Severus didn’t deserve his twisted affections: Harry didn’t know how to love somebody. And certainly not someone who deserved happiness as much as Severus did. Harry himself on the other hand…

Shaking off his gloomy thoughts, Harry too stood, stretched to ease the twinges and stiffness along his limbs, then led the way towards the stairs.

 

What Harry didn’t know, too caught up in his own self-deprecation, then ponderings of what dinner he’d cook, was that Severus was subtly roaming his gaze along the planes of the younger's figure. Not overly tall, but with lithe muscles that curved enticingly, naturally fair skin contrasted by dark hair, floating and wild like ink drops in water. A teenager who had long since began maturing into fully-fledged adulthood. Yet even just kissing him added to Severus’ already lengthy list of sins. The brat wasn't yet seventeen for Salazar's sake!

 

Arriving in the kitchen, the two were still alone. So Severus settled into one of the dining chairs, a small stack of books at his side, one open in front of him. Meanwhile, Harry was stood at the sideboard, knife rapidly slicing and peeling vegetables, with a finesse and exactness borne of practice. As the rhythmic sound beat a gentle pattern in the backs of their minds, the two men were able to focus on their individual tasks. The atmosphere was of tacit content. Sometimes communicating by only shared space was far more effective, more soothing, than any solace provided by words. Harry and Severus were acutely aware of that.

 

It wasn’t long before dinner was to be served up when Severus let out a soft, satisfied,  
“Ah-hah.”

“Hm?” Harry hummed, glancing up from the potatoes that were boiling away to look at the smirking man.

“I do believe I’ve found our answer.”

“Really?” Movements buoyant, the younger man twirled his wand at the various food items and, stasis charms snapping into place, slid into the seat beside Severus, subconsciously leaning close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

“Indeed. Read this passage here.” Drawing the indicated book closer to himself, Harry scanned the passage, trying to apply the information to what had happened earlier.

 

 

“So… We both know that my magic has always been a little on the… wild side. And according to this, that gave it a certain degree of sentience. And, presumably, this ‘change in internal or external conditions’ needed is… Oh! The pentagrams! They’ve increased my connection to my magic, and it’s probably melded with my conscious or something, increasing its independence. So it can guide me, up to a point.”

“Exactly.” And Harry’s grin widened even further at Severus’ smirk and raised eyebrow. This was one of pride and smugness.

“Not too bad, brat. Now then, dinner? We can theorise further after food.” Not even bothering to reply, Harry jumped to his feet and, dispelling the charms he’d placed, attended to the new potatoes once more. As Severus began to stack up his books and deposit them at the very end of the kitchen counter, out of the way, Harry asked,

“Could you call everyone down? I’ll dish up.” Rolling his eyes but nodding, the elder left the room to enjoy a good shout. The lack of trembling first-years to terrify was taking its toll. Harry simply snickered, depositing platters of vegetables in the centre of the table. He outright laughed when Severus returned, quickly trailed by pouting and annoyed teenagers. The twins though were sniggering. Remus, Molly and Arthur appeared quite amused by their attitudes too. Judging by Ron’s furious flush, he’d probably fallen over or dropped something in shock at Severus’ shouting. That’d explain a lot.

 

“Oh, it smells wonderful, Harry dear! Lamb?”

“You called it, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied, just finishing with the carving,  
“Sit down guys, start eating. I’ll just bring this over.” Somehow, Harry ended up sat at the head of the table, Severus to his left, Fred (or was it George, no, definitely Fred) to his right. Plates of food got handed around as everybody took their portions and dug in. The atmosphere was delightfully warm, everybody discussing neutral matters, no tension in sight. It made him feel… complete. These people were his friends, his family even. And there was nowhere Harry would rather be.

 

All the more reason to protect them.

 

 

 -----------------------------------------------

 

 

 **Protego** **optimo** \- lit. the best shield - a variation of the standard 'protego' shield spell, and the most powerful invariant of said original spell. Its sheer power is countered by its inflexibility: it can only cover the immediate area in front of the caster, and can only protect from spells, not debris or other physical attacks. It requires immense focus and magical power to cast, and even more to maintain for any length of time. The manifestation of the spell will glow blue;the weaker the shield the darker the shade. Being hit at a certain angle, where any weaknesses may be found, will increase the likelihood of the shield simply shattering.

 

 


	18. As The Seventh Month Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's birthday doesn't start off the best way possible, but by Merlin it's going to get better!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An out-of-schedule update because I finally got round to going through my AO3 inbox, and the lovely comments prompted me to post a bit earlier - particularly Kay and Anma's - thanks you two, and everyone else. Chapter 19 will be up on Saturday as usual! Xxx

 

Harry awoke on July 31st in a very normal way: a nightmare, but not a vision. Not a bad start, in all honesty. However it was three o’clock in the morning, according to his exhaustion-dim **tempus** , so he was quick to get up and head down to the basement. There were few better ways to come to full awareness post-nightmare than Duelling, even if it was only against a partially enchanted room. Plus it would rid him of the adrenaline that was pumping through him but going absolutely nowhere.

 

Accordingly, for the next two hours Harry obsessively trained. Casting hexes, dodging curses, manipulating charms; he was sweating, slipping in blood and perspiration and debris, bare feet soon covered in scrapes and gouges, panting out the occasional spell, the rest being non-verbal, some wandless to boot, utilising his right hand.  —isn’t h right handed tho? Eh, can change canon who cares—

 

And he kept this up until a shield swirled into being around him, simultaneous to the paralysis curse that hit his unprotected back.

“If you are quite done?” The sneer wasn’t particularly mocking, not to Harry’s ears, for he heard the undertones of concern and curiosity. But still.

“No actually, but I assume you’re here to tell me differently?” The weary sass was merely met by a raised eyebrow. See if Harry didn’t shave those one day-!

“Indeed I am. Nightmare?”

“No shit.”

“My, my Mr Potter, such shocking vocabulary from such a _distinguished_ young man. I believe a punishment shall have to be administered: you will accompany me to the library, wherein we shall read quietly. Do follow,” Severus finished, finally removing his spells.

 

Grumbling quietly, though not truly meaning his complaints, Harry did follow. He always would.

 

“I’m sorry this was the start to your birthday,” came the soft voice only for Harry’s attention, as they delicately trod the creaky staircase.

“Meh. I’m not surprised.”

“Nor am I. Hence why I should have offered you some dreamless sleep.”

“You didn’t though because you know I hate that stuff. Weakens my Occlumency and traps me in any consequent visions. So I’m glad you knew not to because it may well have been too tempting and then I would’ve regretted it.”

“Still. You should have come to wake me. I would have been- content to accompany you for a few hours. Regardless of the early start.”

“…Thanks Severus. Next time, yeh?”

“Yes, next time.” Both of them knew that Harry, whilst not lying, exactly, likely wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Idiot brat was still virtually incapable of asking for help.

 

Before Severus could linger on such thoughts, the two reached the library and entered, immediately headed for their usual armchairs in front of one of the two secondary fires. Set in the corner of the cavernous yet gloomy room, there was a boarded up window right next to them, leading on to the overgrown garden and the only usual entrance to the room was in easy sight. Plus the angle of the chairs allowed them to watch each other’s backs and, in combination, see the entire room. It was both a strategic and comfortable place to sit, hence their occupation of the spot. Finally, they had cast a few wards at certain proximities to the corner, affording them forewarning of anybody approaching. It was a safe, private space, despite the technically public setting. So that’s where they settled.

 

Severus reached for his current pile of tomes, Harry mirroring the movement. And whilst they began to read as per usual, Severus did extend one foot slightly to the side of its own normality, just resting it against Harry’s ankle. Neither commented. There was no need to, after all, both of them found a measure of reassurance in the contact, minimal though it was. It was enough to convey that they had company, that they were awake and safe; it was enough to ground them both. And if Harry fell into a doze within twenty minutes, well, he deserved the rest.

 

It wasn’t until around nine that Granger hurried into the room, clearly casting about in search of the birthday Boy-Who-Lived.

“Harry-!”

“Do be quiet, he’s asleep. Merlin knows he needs it.”

“…okay, thank you Sir. Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. Merely tired. I shall awaken him, if you would precede us to the kitchen?” A frown marred the girl’s face, but she nodded in acquiescence all the same. With a final concerned glance towards her friend, Granger left. Not bothering to hold in his sigh, Severus moved his deadened foot away from Harry’s ankle and watched the brat immediately jump to awareness.

“Severus-!”

“Hush now. All’s well Harry, but it’s time we get up and have breakfast.”

“Oh- okay. What’s the time?” he asked, still a little sleep-slurred.

“I said: time for breakfast.” The teasing was met by a half-lidded reproachful stare. 

“Just past nine.” Harry only hummed in reply, eyes already closed again. Severus smiled a little viciously, sending a minor stinging hex at the young man’s thigh.

“Come on birthday brat. They’ll be missing you; no dawdling now.”

“Fine, fine.”

 

When the two made it downstairs, Harry leading this time, despite his bleary eyes, there was an immediate if disjointed round of,

“Happy birthday!” as people noticed him. Harry just stood, blinking at them.

“Oh yeh, I’d forgotten again already.”

“I only reminded you not two minutes ago,” Severus smirked.

“Meh. Two minutes, two hours, two days. It’s all the same.”

“Hardly. But if you insist…” Again, there was a teasing lilt, incredibly subtle though it was, to Severus’ tone.

“I do insist! By royal decree of the bloody Bastard-Who-Lives, two minutes is now synonymous with two days!” The sarcastic declaration was accompanied by an elaborate bow, facing Severus, that shocked an amused snort out of the man.

 

Meanwhile, the ignored crowd gaped at the two’s banter and exuberance, bitter though the latter might be. It was rare to see Harry act out in any way other than anger, defiance or leadership. And to see Snape laugh, even if minimally, was utterly unheard of. So this display was shocking to say the least.

 

Abruptly, both of those in question stiffened, the group able to watch Snape’s face close off completely. No doubt Harry’s did the same,

“Sorry about that everyone. I’m a little tired. And thank you for the well-wishes.” Ron and Ginny visibly blanched at the overly formal words that Harry provided as he turned to smile awkwardly at them all.

 

“It’s fine Harry, dear, it’s nice to see you enjoying yourself. Now, eat up! I made all your favourites.” For once, Severus had more than a cursory distaste for Molly Weasley’s overbearing ways. This particular steamroll was actually helpful.

 

"So, 'arry, whaddya wanna do 'oday?" Ron garbled through a mouthful of eggs,

"Quidditch? Gobstones? Or summat else?" Harry looked over at his best mate, shrugging awkwardly,

"I was gonna train this morning. And most of this afternoon, then spend this evening with you guys."

"Wha-? But-!"

"Harry dear, surely not! It's your birthday, you simply must take the day off. You do too much as it is, you're only just seventeen!"

"Mrs. Weasley, with all due respect, it's _my_ birthday and I'll spend it however I want. And if I don't train at least some, then I'll be wasting time. The war effort is far more important than any stupid birthday. I can celebrate next year, or the year after. Unless, of course, we don't win. And the more I train, the higher chance I have _of still being here_ to do so."

"Ah- But- I see what you mean but-"

"But nothing. Thank you for breakfast, it was lovely. I'll handle lunch as per usual." And with the polite but dismissive words, Harry stood, thoughtlessly levitated his plate and cutlery into the sink and left, tossing,

"I'll be in the attic Severus," over his shoulder.

 

"Oh, honestly, that boy! He doesn't take care of himself, does he? I do worry! But really, it's his birthday, how could he be training, it's ridiculous. He still so young-" As the matriarch began ranting, half in worry, half in admonishment, Severus silently took his last few mouthfuls, left his crockery where it was in a vague bout of pettiness, and headed up to join Harry. The brat wasn't having the best start to the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I don’t know why I went on a mini-rant about their seating arrangements of all things, but  
> I found it interesting so- um- yeh- sorry? It was like over a hundred words of this 1500-ish word chap so  
> please forgive me? (Awkward-arse author alert) Still, I've really enjoyed writing this birthday sub-plot; such fun!
> 
> Love you all, thank you so much as always - Ota. Xxx


	19. Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's training, cake and friendships. And, of course, presents. It's a birthday party of sorts, after all.

 

Severus and Harry did indeed spend their morning training, including a long few hours of Harry Conjuring and almost simultaneously demolishing dummies, clearly venting. Determining to let the young man get on with said venting, Severus had summoned a few books from their shared room downstairs and settled onto the single chair by the door of the attic, hardly moving until Harry turned to him, announcing,  
"Okay, I'm sorted now. Sorry. Wanna do something more productive?"

"Of course. Whenever you're ready," came the snide reply. Harry merely rolled his eyes, digging just-shaking fingers into the elder's ribs on his way past. At least the brat could still take a joke- some teasing even. Severus Snape did not joke, refrain from such absurdities.

 

To give the brat's magic a little time to recover from its already extensive use, despite not having quite reached noon yet, Severus led Harry to their corner of the library, where he produced specific notes and tomes.

"Let us refine our possible options for the Anti-Cruciatus potion. We may experiment in the coming week, time permitting."

"Sure," came the younger's easy agreement, already reaching for the first list of potential ingredients. Severus carefully catalogued how the trembling had now completely died down and, despite the heavy bags resting beneath the brat's eyes, he appeared clear and coherent. Sufficient.

 

Unfortunately, Harry's minor shaking returned not long into lunch. As more and more people had filed into the kitchen-diner, and the noise level had increased with that, his uneasiness also rose. Severus observed all of this with his typical frown.

"So you gonna come and have some fun now or what?" The damn redhead was being too pushy. What a surprise.

"Sorry Ron, but I really gotta train more. I can't not." And of course Harry was dampening his intellect and articulacy as always.

"C'mon mate. It's only a couple'a hours. Spend some time away from that greasy bat! Time with your friends instead!"

"But he is my friend!" 

"Clearly a more important one than us."

"That's not how this works- I didn't mean- look, can we just not do this now? I'll be done by four, okay? We can all- I dunno, have cake or something then. So please, just leave it Ron. For today at least."

"But-"

"Mate, it's my birthday, yeh; drop it?"

"Fine. Whatever. Better be down here at four though," Weasley the Sixth grumbled bad-naturedly, obviously failing to clock the utter relief flooding Harry's posture. Well, that argument had been postponed once more then. All the better really, at least for today.

 

True to his word, Harry ascended the basement staircase just before four o'clock that afternoon, relishing the delicious scents of vanilla and raspberry, sweet and tart smells combining into something tantalising that set his stomach rumbling.

"Ah, Harry dear, I hope you enjoy this, Hermione said it was your favourite, or it seemed so at least. You really should tell me these things!"

"It does smell lovely, thank you."

"Of course! Everyone will be down in a minute, take a seat, there you go, head of the table, it's your birthday after all..." As Harry took said seat and Molly rambled on, distracted, the young man caught Severus' eye and nigh-on pouted at him. After all, the elder was making his way to the door, doubtlessly fleeing to the library or their room. Rolling his eyes, the Potions Master returned to his side.

"You don't really want me to stay," he murmured, leaning in close, hair swinging to mask both their expressions from anybody else.

"Yes, I do. So long as you're alright with it. I mean, you don't have to. But, I'd prefer it if you were here. And later on too. You don't have to of course, no pressure, just-" Cutting of the gibberish before the brat could really get going, Severus pulled out a chair at Harry's right,  
"Very well brat. At least it's not chocolate cake, blasted stuff's always too sickly."

"Thanks Severus." Now, he only grunted in reply. Harry grinned at him all the same.

 

It didn't take another five minutes for Hermione, Ginny, Ron, the twins and Remus to join them all in the kitchen. And whilst Hermione and Ron settled to Harry's left, Remus happily took the chair to the other side of Severus, with the twins, Ginny and Molly all occupying the next four places. It wasn't a very large group, but Harry was still obviously happy, eyes wide and bright, smile just the same. Severus fought down the urge to present a soft little smile of his own at the sight. It was... good, to see the young man who was normally forced to be so very mature acting more innocently, more child-like. Quite charming in fact, much to Severus' own chagrin. Still, he refused to put on an overly sour face and instead donned a mask of neutrality, smoothed though it was around the edges. Harry just grinned broadly at him, before leaning towards the cake and its candles.

 

"I wish..." the young man whispered, expression suddenly a little pained, before closing his verdant eyes and blowing gently. The candles sputtered out in an instant, yet Harry remained frozen for a long moment more. Then cheers rang out from the majority of the room, and he was startled back to normality. Well, almost. Nobody chose to comment on the glassiness of his gaze, nor how he took a few deep, calming breaths. Instead, they clamoured after him, demanding cake and teasing him with tidbits about his presents, or telling him how very proud his parents would be of him. Severus himself remained silent. The brat knew what he thought of him, knew that Severus... cared, without the need for paltry words in a public setting. So he stayed quiet. It would be enough to give Harry his present in front of these Gryffindors later.

 

And indeed, once all but two slices of cake had been devoured, one for Arthur and an extra for the birthday boy, the group migrated to a sitting room, opposite the library, which was one of the few cleared spaces that would comfortably fit all nine of them. And on the main coffee table there was a pile of presents, most well-wrapped but a few disgustingly messy. Harry would undoubtedly be delighted regardless.

 

"Are these all for me?"

"Yeah! This one's from me, and that's Mione's, and Neville's-!" As the Sixth droned on about who'd given each present, Severus settled himself in an armchair in the corner, content to simply watch on. Harry was similarly sat silently, but he was clearly enraptured with the little haphazard pile, and of course on an ottoman in the centre of all his friends.

 

"Here, start with" "ours - go on Harry!" "It won't" "explode, promise!" Harry snickered at the twin's antics and reached for the purple and orange box a tad warily all the same.

"Thanks you two," he began, before even opening the box. And he did so reverently, placing the lid next to him and laughing as he pulled out an extendable ear, a small sparkly pouch and then another, smaller box, this time one labelled ' _Peruvian Instant Darkness - One pinch works wonders - Quick get-aways and distractions galore!_ '

"We figured those could" "be both fun and practical!" As Harry grinned at them, they took the box out his hands, packed it all back up and set it in the beginning of a new pile at Harry's feet.

"Next present!"

 

And so it went on. Neville had sent Harry a somewhat questionable book on plant-based poisons and detecting them, along with a note saying: _'Hey Harry, happy birthday! Hopefully this book won't come in handy, but you never know, and I thought it was interesting either way. Gran let me take it from the family vault - don't worry, we have another two copies for some reason. Look after yourself and enjoy your day!'_ Harry read it over fondly, carefully tucking the note into the front of the tome. Good old Neville.

 

Luna's present was a charmed bracelet. A leather band, dyed a deep, almost black, red, was woven in between a silver chain, around half of the links displaying a little charm, most being silver. A broom, an evil eye, a snitch, a potions phial, a lily, a ball of flame, a snowflake and three small emerald pentacles. A short explanation was attached as well as a catalogue for charmed bracelets and their attachments. _'Hello Harry, happy birth anniversary. I know that this will find you well, so I won't bother with all of that. This bracelet will help to protect you. I was going to give you a Nargle-repellant necklace, but this was more important. The charms all do different things, they're very useful, you know. The broom charm gives you a space to store your Firebolt; the snitch asks Lady Luck to smile upon you; the fire absorbs baby burns; the snowflake absorbs the worst of Jack Frost's ire; the evil eye prevents spell-spying, but be warned it cannot bolster your mind shields; the phial vibrates when it comes near most poisons and potions, but not those brewed for good and intended for bad; the emerald pentacles can hold a little magic, if only one is inclined to give a little when safe; the lily is sentimental and can be removed if it is too personal and my apology would be implicit, but she passed for protection and that is what this bracelet is for. Enjoy your day Harry.'_ Harry couldn't help but laugh a little, his smile kind and eyes warm. Trust Luna to be so whimsical yet so bloody brilliant at the same time. Accordingly, he immediately slipped on the bracelet and placed the book, again with note tucked inside, on the floor and accepted the next gift with a yet-brighter smile.

 

Ron had messily wrapped up two chocolate frogs and a photo frame in Chudley Cannon-orange paper, Harry sniggering at the sight before sobering. The simple wooden frame he revealed paled in comparison to the precious photo inside.

"Colin took it. No surprises there, hey mate?"

"No surprise at all," Harry agreed, tears blurring his vision but not permitted to fall. The photo was of the Gryffindor common room, late at night judging by the general lack of people and the moonlight flooding in from the windows, improving the clarity of the fire-light illumination of three sleeping figures. Ron and Hermione took up the two halves of the loveseat, Ron's long arm curled around her shoulders, the two clearly having slumped further into each other as they slept. And across their laps, his head pillowed on worn Muggle jeans and his legs slung over Ron's and then the arm of the sofa, was Harry himself. A Quidditch magazine was still open across his lap from where Ron had been reading it, Hermione's hand still buried in black curls from where she had been loosely braiding them. It was a very sweet picture, one detailing their happiest times together. No wonder he was nigh-on crying over it.

"Thanks Ron. It- it's brilliant."

"'Course. Reckoned you'd like it. Mione agreed when I showed her it."

"I do. I really, really do." Everyone tactfully ignored how tightly Harry hugged Ron, even the twins refraining from cooing at them.

 

Hermione had immaculately stacked three tomes and encased them in beautiful golden paper, something that looked like it was from The Card Factory. It was cool, all shimmery and glinting in the strong candlelight. And the books inside were cool too, actually, two of them about using physical measures against curses, from Transfiguration to dodging techniques. The third was about Quidditch, apparently detailing different types of manoeuvres. Following Hermione, there was a few Defense books from Remus, plus a new set of quills and ink from Molly and Arthur. Their daughter handed over a bag containing a cheesy _'I'm a keeper, and I'm not talking about Quidditch'_ mug that earned a round of laughter. Lastly, Severus stood from his broody spot in the corner, one hand tucked behind his back. 

 

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

Just for clarification on Luna's note:

 **Broomstick** \- can be used to magically store one broomstick;

 **Potions** **phial** \- will vibrate if the wearer is about to eat/drink any potions that are naturally harmful, can't detect maliciously intended 'healing' or neutral potions;

 **Flame** \- absorbs the damage of minor burns;

 **Snowflake** \- takes in the worst of extremely cold temperatures;

 **Golden snitch** \- provides the wearer with a little extra luck;

 **Evil eye** \- prevents the use of scrying spells, or other closely-related charms with the same genus, being cast upon the wearer;

 **Pentacles** (carved of emerald rather than shaped of silver) - can be used as a store for magic, so long as the wearer takes the time to replenish its reserves when they have excess energy, useful both as a last resort and as a sedative of sorts for wild, excessive magic;

 **Lily** **flower** \- primarily symbolic, though it is imbued with the 'connection charm', thus acting as the keystone for the bracelet (this function could be shifted to another charm, so long as said replacement did not yet possess any properties of its own).

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one is rambling, or a bit of a filler, but I did technically write it as a filler? I didn't want to extend the first birthday chap, but I liked how the last one started as was (both were written before this one) so I had to write up what happened in between!  
> Hope you enjoyed it - love, Ota. Xxx


	20. A Little Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Celebrating Harry's birthday' finale.
> 
> I really love this chapter - I really, really love it!!!

 

Harry reached for the proffered parcel, admiring its metallic green, blue and grey stripes. The silver ribbon was thick and luxurious, far more expensive than the young man liked to consider.  
“Severus…”  
“Well then brat? Don’t keep us waiting.” After a moment more’s hesitation, Harry grasped the present more firmly and, carefully, centimetre by centimetre, untied and set aside the lovely ribbon and oh-so-delicately peeled away the wrapping paper. Near-still and silent, he reverently raised the revealed object.

 

Gleaming the muted effervescence of burnished, beautiful gold, a pocket watch laid in his hand. The case was engraved with an Ouroboros, the detailing of its minute scales immaculate, surrounding a lion’s head, calm and docile. But what halted Harry was a sense that the snake was… protecting the lion, watching over it, accompanying it. And he couldn’t help but liken it to himself and Severus, or perhaps even his own two sides.

 

At the loudening murmurs of those around him and those fierce eyes burning onto the crown of his bent head, Harry dared to flip back the case and promptly froze once more.

 

His mother’s face smiled up at him. Surrounded by trees and sunlight, she was flushed and clearly laughing exuberantly, red hair dancing in an unseen breeze, green eyes bright and alight with mirth and fire and life.  
“I thought you might like it. She was just barely nineteen; you were a year old and, I think, being babysat by your father and Black- Sirius. It was the February before that Halloween and the weather was unusually warm. We were celebrating my birthday, a month late as it was, and hers along with it.”  
“Fuck…” came the heartfelt reply, Harry not even seeming to realise that rare tears were trickling down his pale cheeks. The concerned questions were ignored as he instead brushed his fingers carefully across the edge of the Wizarding photo, then tore his attention to the clock face itself.

 

An emerald backing was embellished with black-bordered digits in white, Gothic print, tracked by golden hands. But inside the ring of numbers was another system: this one similar to the Weasley’s family clock. One black hand, quite short, with ‘Severus’ etched in gold upon its face, was indicating ‘Home’. As was Remus’. Ron, Fred, George and Hermione’s all simply pointed to ‘Safe’. Other segments were labelled ‘Battle’, ‘Work’, ‘Travelling’, ‘Hospital’ and ‘Mortal Danger’.

 

“I- Sev’rus, it’s beautiful-“ Harry gasped out, choking and tumbling over the syllables. Conflict bloomed in his watery eyes as he fought the desire to leap up and hug the man. Merlin’s balls, this was too much. The pocket watch was elegant and practical and sentimental and perfect. So perfect.  
“You’re most welcome,” came the slightly stiff reply, the elder awkward with how to comfort Harry in front of so many people. Sensing this past his own emotions, Harry made quick work in tamping down his feelings; his mini- break-down could wait until they had more privacy.

 

“Thank you everyone. You’ve given me far more than you needed to,” he provided. During the expected outcry of reassurances, Harry nodded discretely to Severus, just a single incline of the head. They would talk later.

 

 

Unfortunately, ‘later’ took nearly four hours. Between eating and then spending time with his friends, Harry was kept busy. He lost a good number of chess games but won a few of exploding snap. All the while, Severus had retired, escaping the hubbub by retreating to Harry’s room to read and wait out the younger’s activities. When Harry finally entered the room, visibly tired but grinning happily, he immediately walked over to the Potion Master’s bed and, no hesitations, plopped himself down beside the elder, only having to wait a few seconds before being graced by Severus closing the scant few inches between their sides, allowing their arms and legs to brush.

 

Grin softening and widening into a content smile, Harry drifted there for a while, warm and safe and happy. His small pile of presents was stacked at the foot of his own bed, but for the charmed bracelet and the pocket watch.

 

“Were you truly so pleased with my gift? It didn’t upset you?” Severus finally spoke, sounding both gratified and a little hesitant beneath the veneer of neutrality and passive indifference.  
“How could I not be pleased? Severus, it is beautiful and practical and, beyond all that, means a lot to me. It has parts of my mum, of you, of my friends, of myself. It- Dammit Sev, it’s quite possibly the best present I’ve ever been given. Truly.” And whilst Harry stopped there, both understood the tacit continuation: it was a physical epitome of Severus’ care for Harry, an epitome of the thought and time and resources he was willing to dedicate to the younger. And that meant impossibly more than the object itself.

 

“Hm. Well perhaps you have a little taste.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Harry grinned in return.

“Only a little, mind. You still spend far too much time with a dungeons bat, I’ve heard.”

“Well maybe I happen to like said dungeons bat,” came the mock-offended reply, the trace of indignation genuine but failing to hamper his bright grin and soft snigger.

 

“Maybe… maybe I made two birthday wishes…” Watching Harry trail off, the younger’s mirth and confidence sapping quickly, Severus spoke up,  
“And…?” The word was gentle, with only the faintest of sneers, knowing that Harry would see it for what it truly was.

“Maybe one of my wishes was for-“ his voice wavered but didn’t yet crack,  
“For a kiss.”

Severus looked down upon Harry’s figure, slightly hunched as it now was, green eyes hauntingly bright, averted yet practically glowing with inner fire, half-laying there beside him, so comfortable even in Severus’ direct presence.

What was such a beautiful young man doing?

Why would Harry desire such a sour, dour old man as himself? When there were younger, more balanced and more attractive men and women that would murder to have a chance with the Boy-Who-Lived.

Ah, there was the answer. The ‘Boy-Who-Lived’.

Harry wanted somebody to see him for what he truly was, somebody he could rely-

 

Severus’ thoughts were interrupted by the faintest keening, just one short whimper, Harry’s eyes still averted but no longer quite so bright.

“Hush now, hush,” he comforted, allowing his arm to shift and his fingers to card through wild hair. The younger was quick to lean into the touch, even as his hands began to tremble slightly in his lap.

“Keep on breathing Harry, that’s it, keep that up, come on…”

 

Gradually, as they stayed like that, leaning heavily against each other, the pair unwittingly fell into sleep.

Perhaps it was better that way.

 

 

The next morning, Harry woke up first. And was promptly mortified. Why did he think it was a good idea to tell Severus that he wanted to kiss him? Just because the man was coming to care about him didn’t mean there was anything romantic in their- their codependency. And, well, there didn’t have to be, but Harry definitely liked the idea of it. Harry wanted Severus like he wanted Voldemort dead and Cedric alive: wholly, viscerally, eternally. With his entire being. Maybe it was selfish, and Harry would make do with the man’s friendship and be done with it if that was what Severus allowed, and he would still be endlessly grateful for that much, but Harry _wanted_. And he couldn’t stand the thought of being totally rejected, of being denied even the man’s very presence. So of course Severus had to talk him down from the beginnings of a panic attack. Of course Harry was so fucking useless, such a-

Forcing himself away from that train of thought, Harry pushed himself up from where he had been slumped with Severus, quickly moving to stand and just do something. Anything to hide his embarrassment and distress.

 

This was what the Potions Master woke up to, in turn. The bedsheets beside him were already cool; his neck, back and shoulders were complaining and Harry was silently stacking and organising some of his books, cross-legged upon his own bed. Not as far away from Severus as he could get, but obviously putting a barrier in between them. Silly brat. It wasn’t that Severus didn’t want Harry; it was that he shouldn’t want Harry. Keeping his sigh internal, Severus levered himself up and began to stretch a little, working the stiffness out of his muscles. Honestly, no part of growing older was fun, regardless of how young he might be by general Wizarding standards. He was only a fifth of the way through his life, assuming he survived this blasted war that is, and Harry only a tenth, but he felt centuries older.

 

“Morning,” Harry’s tone was flat, almost uncertain, but failed to betray his true lack of confidence. Idiot brat.

“And to you. Is it time for breakfast?” He in turn kept his voice light and cordial, watching Harry’s tempus light up in crimson.

“Yeh. Let’s go,” Harry quickly extracted himself from the stacks of tomes and spare parchment, invisible yet shimmering ribbons of magic holding them stable, before leading the way to leave. As he passed Severus, door now half-open in front of them, the elder took the chance to swoop down and plant a kiss, brief but warm, upon his lips, quickly straightening again and smirking wickedly before billowing out of the room and downstairs to breakfast. He could smell the hash-browns and bacon already. He would undoubtedly debate his own actions later. But for now he could revel in how his lips were ablaze with sensation. He’d kissed Harry.

 

Meanwhile, Harry himself had frozen. Severus had just- He’d- Why- What even-

  
Hearing the other man’s footsteps echoing down the staircase brought Harry back to reality. Severus had just kissed him, so maybe he hadn’t been rejected after all. Or maybe he had and that was just… just a pity-kiss. That was probably a thing, right? But Severus didn’t do pity so that couldn’t be it. An apology-kiss then? But Severus didn’t do that either… Thinking was hurting his head, almost overwhelming the way his face was burning and his lips were… Merlin, they were tingling like he was one of the dumb heroines out of Aunt Petunia’s secret stash of bodice-rippers. Okay, Harry needed to focus. Get his priorities straight. Right now: go downstairs and eat breakfast; finish making a plan to tackle the werewolf issue with Remus and Severus. Then train for the rest of the day. Yep, that would work. Not like one of his two birthday wishes had just come true or anything. Nor that there was actually a chance the first would too.

 

Maybe there was a chance that they’d actually win this war.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER FOR THIS CHAPTER  
> Honestly, I'm far too proud of the title for this chapter: a little taste. Get it? Because Sev says Harry has a little taste AND then they get a little taste of each other! *cackling* Merlin, I have a rubbish sense of humour because this is such a bad pun but I love it anyway!
> 
> Thanks for putting up with me, hope you're enjoying this and all have a good Saturday! Love, Ota. Xxx


	21. What Comes With Sunrise, And Just Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An early morning, but not altogether a bad one.

 

That night, now that the seventh month had truly died, been dead and gone for nearly a day in fact, Severus was plagued with a vicious nightmare. 

 

_Green fire curled in the air, against the walls of the cottage, burning fingers reaching for him, promising pain and loss. Promising death._

_"Severus! Help me, Severus, please!" That voice was achingly familiar._

_"Lily!" He ran forwards, heedless of the heat and smoke, all backlit by Avada Kedavra green. The stecnh of roasting flesh met his nostrils, stung his nose and tongue._

_"No! Please, Severus!"_

_"Lily! Where are you? I'm coming! Lily!" But the voice didn't echo back. Instead, a faint litany of whimpers reached him, twisting in between the roar and crackle of fire, almost sibilant and almost broken._

_"Sev'rus!" The voice was fractured, the 's' dragged out, pulling Severus even closer, pushing him to run even faster towards Li- No! No, no, no - Harry! That was Harry's voice! He ran even faster, ignorant of his own limbs being caught by licks of fire and flame.The idiot brat was in danger again, Lily wasn't here at all, how could she be, she was dead, but Harry was here, Harry needed help, needed him-_

 

"Severus!" With an aborted shout, Severus shot up in bed, scrambling for his wand, smashing his forehead against Harry's shoulder.

"You're alright Sev, I promise. Careful now. Everything's fine, we're safe at Grimmauld Place. Slow your breathing down, please Sev," a pleading note accompanied the concern and comforting velvet of the younger's tone, "Come on now, with me, that's it. We're safe here. You're not there, everything's fine, nobody's in danger." The young man shut up at that point, opting instead to gently guide Severus' head against his chest, one hand automatically stroking through the fine hair, the other arm curled around the elder's torso, supporting them both in the slightly awkward position, Harry half-kneeling on, half-hovering over the bed, holding Severus close but not restraining him.

 

It took some time, but Harry's steady, slightly too fast heartbeat worked together with the warmth of the other's body to ground Severus. Eventually, Severus simply resorted to unclenching his hands from his wand and the younger's shirt to instead tug the brat onto the bed with him, sitting perpendicular to each other.

"Better now?" came the hesitant question. Surely Harry knew he wouldn't lash out at him by now? After all, it was far from the first time that Severus had been the one to have the nightmare that he needed bringing out of, even if his long-term Occlumency did dampen a good number of them.

"Much, thank you Harry." They shared a few seconds of companionship before Harry glanced away, flushing a little,  
"Would you mind- Could I- Maybe- We-"

"Of course," he cut him off. Heaving a sigh of relief and gratitude, Harry stood and slipped beneath the covers when Severus raised them for him.

"Only because it's easier to wake each other up."

"Indeed." They both knew that was largely a lie after all. 

 

When the two awoke the next morning, they luckily hadn't intertwined themselves (for once, though neither knew that the other was aware of the fact). Instead, one of Harry's legs crossed over one of Severus at the calf, but they were laying, half-curled, on their sides, facing one another, Severus having stolen most of the blanket during the night. Managing not to giggle at that little snippet, Harry slid out of bed to stretch, the elder sitting up to do the same. Neither spoke a word. And, despite Harry's fears, the silence was not an awkward one. It wasn't exactly completely comfortable either, but it was content, so he'd take what he could get.

"Breakfast?"

"Breakfast," the young man concurred, revelling in how he could cast 'verto vestimentum' legally. Being at Grimmauld Place had given him freedom to cast anything, thanks to its wards, but knowing that if he walked outside right now he could legally defend himself was brilliant. Hopefully, there was less chance of him getting into trouble with the Ministry this way. Well, hopefully anyway. Knowing his luck, and his reputation at that, something would probably still happen to get him arrested or questioned at the very least. Oh well.

 

Coming into the kitchen, the pair found only Remus, who was sat, cradling some herbal tea that made Harry scrunch his nose up in protest. It seemed like something Petunia would have drunk, just to try and seem sophisticated. Still, Remus liked them.

"Morning."

"And to you two." Severus merely grunted at their exchange, immediately headed to the coffee pot.

"Harry?"

"Yes, thanks. No m-"

"Milk or sugar, I'm fully aware." With a crooked grin, Harry pulled out the chair opposite Remus, nudged out the one to his own right and took a moment to examine the man. He was looking alright, all things considered. The regular doses of Wolfsbane were clearly helping, thank Merlin, although that didn't prevent the violet bags from breaking up the pale of his face.

"You managing to sleep much Remus?"

"Enough Harry, don't worry. I'm still getting over the last moon."

"That was only a few nights ago, wasn't it? The W- thanks Severus, perfect - the Wolfsbane is still helping, yeh? No problems there?" Remus hesitated, wide eyes darting to Severus for the inevitable indignation and fury at the insinuation. When no such reaction came, he spoke up,  
"No, it's been quite excellent, thank you. And you both? Are _you_ sleeping enough?" Harry resisted the urge to flinch, or to turn to Severus, gathering himself in a split-second,  
"As well as can be expected, I suppose. We're fine. No visions for a while." Remus narrowed his eyes, but nodded graciously, willing to leave the two their privacy. If they couldn't do anything about it, then Merlin knew that he couldn't either.

"So, what do you think about the Plinski-Geiger Duelling tactics? Personally, I've always found them a little aggressive, but-" 

 

As Remus drew them into conversation on various defence tactics and spells, he watched both Severus and Harry relax infinitesimally, contributing and almost-smiling, debating and half-heartedly glaring when they disagreed. It was good to see them getting along, after so long of the Potters and this particular Potions Master being at such strong odds.

 

 When a good portion of the resident Weasleys, along with Hermione, entered the kitchen at around nine, no breakfast was ready. Instead, they entered to find the three deep in conversation , various notes and books strewed around them, along with three steaming mugs, Harry animatedly gesturing at a specific page for the other two to read, exclaiming,

"See! Yes, Rubin's elucidation was sufficient, but only for Firsties! McAuliffe's treatise surrounding quasi-physical shielding was far more detailed and, look here, does so in a way that is comprehensible but still advanced. It lends itself to further thought, plus it inspired the simpler works like Rubin's, because McAuliffe portrayed the subject as such a fundamental of Defensive magic. And he was right! Most wizards forget completely about somatic attacks, even the offensive uses of Transfiguration, and so when you do come across a more flexible opponent who _will_ use corporeal magics, it is essential to be able to guard against both those and the metaphysical normative spells. Hence quasi-physical shields! Yes, they can be shattered, but that typically requires more specialised curses or simply a massive amount of magical power, which the average wizard doesn't possess! Hence, McAuliffe's work being the definitive material for the topic."

"I will concede that, but-"

"What are you three doing?"

"Hermione!" Harry yelped, turning suddenly in his seat, and he would have toppled it if Severus hadn't grabbed onto his arm. Patting the man's knee in silent thanks, the young man rushed to gather the multitude of tomes and parchment into a pile, nearly knocking over his coffee in the process, yet another falling thing caught by Severus.

"Harry, that was-"

"Nothing. It was nothing."

"No it wasn't! Harry James Potter, that was brilliant, and you will take responsibility for it!" Her words were blunt and met with a round of agreement.

"It doesn't matter 'Mione. Leave it. Sorry everyone, breakfast's going to be a bit late, but sit down. I'll be as quick as I can with it." With that, Harry shoved his stack of books at Severus, muttering a low,  
"Don't let them see some of the titles," before hurrying over to the cold cupboard and proceeding to make a rushed meal. Not wanting to deal with the fall-out of the few Dark books in the pile being revealed, the Potions Master simply chose to summon Harry's bookbag from their room, bypassing its wards thanks to the in-cast recognition system, and place their debates' materials inside on one of the many precarious stacks. Buckling the flap back down, he ensured the wards had fully re-engaged. Hopefully everyone would think it was his, might stop them from trying to go through it. _Well_ , he thought to himself as he rose to put the bag on the spare chairs in the corner of the room, _that was a worthy conversation. Perhaps it would be worth involving Lupin more often. Harry does need to practice Duelling against other people with differing styles after all..._

 

 

\---------------------------

 

 

_[excerpt from **Page 110, The Arcane Art of Occlumency for the Advanced** , by Tacitus Brown, published 1981.]_

 

_Occlumentic shields and organisation can, when fully in place for some time, typically over a decade or more, be used to influence one's own dreams. Whilst it is dangerous to the brain functions to fully repress all dreams, it is considered fairly safe practice to dampen nightmares or erotic dreams. However, even deadening a small portion of one's dreams can be inadvisable, and the situation is highly dependent upon the individual. As such, one must carefully monitor oneself and any symptoms of over-repression, including insomnia, excessive day-dreaming, memory loss, difficulty distinguishing between reality and imagination or hallucinations. Further symptoms can be found on Page 114._

 

 

 

 **Verto** **vestimentum** \- lit, 'I swap garments', the changing spell. Typically used upon waking, going to bed or when clothes become dirtied, this spell allows the caster to change their own clothes to any other garment recognised as being under their own possession so long as they know its appearance and current location, e.g. swapping stained school robes with clean ones from a specific trunk. It cannot be used on someone else, but the **'vertas** **vestimentum** **tuam'** derivative of this spell can affect another person, under the same conditions, albeit the clothes being under the target's possession.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird that I have them both sleeping with one or two blankets? I mean, I sleep like that, but don't most people have duvets? I'm not sure! *laughs a little hysterically* Sorry if that's odd guys! Ota, xxx.


	22. And The House Shook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for werewolves, a Duel and a promise to Duel a werewolf.
> 
> (I genuinely wrote this chapter two months ago - it's weird how quickly time passes, huh?  
> On the subject of time, this is out of the usual schedule just because I felt like it - I'm impatient, what can I say except 'Enjoy!'?)

 

Hearing Severus entering the library, Harry was quick to shuffle his notes into his bag, along with his current reference material, the words 'Sworn, Taken Or Given' disappearing into the pit of other books just as the Potions Master rounded the last bookcase to their corner. The younger was suddenly glad for the other work he had laid out on the table previously for this exact purpose.

"Hey Severus."

"Brat," the elder returned as he bent over to deposit two cups of coffee, one black, one laced with honey, before settling into his own armchair and scanning over the table's contents.

"So, werewolves?"

"Yep! Now the Trace is gone, I figured we should finalise our plans for tackling the packs. Obviously, I was going to discuss it with you and Remus but I figured I should have a couple of ideas in mind first."

"Very well. And what have you got so far?" Harry didn't reply, instead allowing Severus to gather together the information from his research.

 

"So... Portkeys, as you mentioned at the Meeting. Sensible, hopefully won't be necessary. Try to negotiate for neutrality, utilise a Vow or Pledge... a Vow, for definite, a Pledge would probably be too weak a deterrent. Talk to the more amenable packs first, try and gain a sort of reputation. Hm." At this point, Severus raised his gaze to scrutinise Harry, looking for uncertainty,  
"It could backfire, allow word to get back to Voldemort," he challenged, mind already made up. Harry didn't have to know that yet though.

"It could, but he'll be predicting that we do something of the sort anyway. That's another reason that I want to lead with the 'join us' negotiation, it'll make Voldemort think we're far more desperate than we actually are. And if we begin with the hostile packs, we're just inviting trouble. If we have to fight our way out, then all of the werewolves will distrust us. Better to get as many neutral as possible to begin with."

"I quite agree. I'm glad you could justify it."

"Gah!" Harry glared at him, flailing a hand,   
"Don't do that! You git!" Severus just smirked at the brat. Pushing Harry, guiding him, accompanying him was Severus' responsibility, his choice. And he'd be damned, both literally and figuratively, if he didn't do a good job of it. Besides, they both enjoyed these interactions and Harry knew it.

 

"Very well. Are you still sticking to the three of us?"

"Yep. Strategically, it's sound. Don't want to appear combative, but we need to be able to defend ourselves. I know you and I are capable, and from his knowledge, both of werewolves and Defence, Remus should be. We can Duel some with him in the next couple of days whilst we finalise everything. Sound okay?" And when his tone became a little hesitant with the question, Severus was quick to shove him out of an unfortunate mindset.

"Sounds positively terrible." Harry snickered at the drawl, eyes already bright again as they met the elder's. Severus smirked in reply. Nudging the other's mug towards him, Harry took up his own coffee and inhaled some steam, glasses fogging up in an instant.

"Nothing better than a good cup of coffee."

"Indeed." And so they sat in silence for a time, sipping from their drinks.

 

"Could- Would you tell me some more about Mum? The pocket watch got me thinking."

"I-" Severus hesitated, trying to navigate the rawness in his chest that remained, even after all this time. ---ha ha ha---

 

"Your mother was... she was a beautiful person, inside and out," catching the semi-alarmed look, he hastened to add,  
"She was a sister to me. We grew up in the same town, only two streets down from each other. We met when we were six, although we didn't really begin to spend time together and become friends until we were eight, when I saw her levitating off of a swing in our park. Merlin, she must have levitated a good ten metres up before she just floated down. At that point I realised she was magical like me, but when I told her she was a witch she punched me. Hard, in the stomach. She was strong, even with skinny little arms. But I started to explain and she listened. We were friends until our Fifth Year, when I said something I should never have, then eventually I earned her forgiveness and we were siblings again, just like that. I had her back for less than a year," Severus trailed off, attention caught on the dregs of dark coffee, refusing to admit that the itching of his eyes was from anything except long-gone steam.

 

"...I'm sorry Severus, I shouldn't've asked."

"It's... fine. Just not something I care to dwell upon often."

"So she was- like a sister to you?"

"Yes. The very best sister anyone could ask for." _Dammit, too sentimental Severus,_ he mentally chided, _too sentimental by far. You are a fool, as always. You cannot deny him, even when you should._

"I'm glad." Both of them knew the double meaning behind those words; only Harry considered himself selfish for such thoughts. Abruptly, the young man sat forward and placed his cup down a tad too heavily, movements jerky.

"So, let's finish hashing this thing out, then we can talk to Remus after lunch."

"Very well," Severus concurred, setting aside his own empty mug. A distraction would do them both good.

 

 

"You want to Duel with me? Are you sure-?"

"I Duel with Severus most days. I've Duelled against Him. I think we should manage," came the short reply, Harry's shoulders tense.

"I wasn't doubting your abilities Harry, more the situation in general," Remus placated.

"It's alright," then Harry visibly softened a tad,   
"If you're uncomfortable, Severus and I can Duel first, then swap partners."

"...Sure." The younger turned on his heel, stalking towards the basement steps before visibly pausing and calming himself and proceeding at a more usual pace. Severus resisted the urge to sneer as he passed the werewolf. Honestly, imagine underestimating Harry when he knew so many of the brat's exploits and had debated Defence with him. The theoretical knowledge alone should have indicated that Harry's skill level far exceeded his peers and many of their own. Although, to be fair, it had taken time for Severus' own opinion of the brat to become quite so... elevated. Severus snorted quietly at his own thought process. Honestly.

 

"Usual rules?"

"Usual rules," the elder confirmed. And with that they began. Harry dived forwards into a roll, casting a pearlescent shield even as he came towards Severus, falling beneath the path of the violet shards of the elder's detonation curse. Startled but reacting calmly, Severus took several long paces, increasing their distance again already, even as Harry was popping up from his roll, casting a silent **Telae Fulmen** and spoken **Voco Grando** in rapid succession, the trap hidden amongst the barrage of sharp hail. As such, despite an immediate heating charm to melt most of the ice and bodily dancing to the side, the edge of the lightning web curled around one of Severus' legs and he grunted in pain, quickly incanting the counter-charm. Harry grinned viciously and pressed his advantage, renewing his shield and whispering,

" **Visus** **mihi** **; Nox.** " Immediately, Harry was the only one able to see and he used the opportunity to take a few silent steps aside of where he had been and cast multiple Transfigurations on the walls around Severus, boxing him in and-

" **Lumos separatum**." Harry hissed as the sudden light at the middle of the ceiling caused his vision to flicker and waver for a vital moment, pain shooting through his head. Severus recovered before he did, silently sending a flash of burgundy and a spiral of silver, the former directly headed for Harry's face, the latter towards his feet. Ducking the red left him vulnerable to the silver, and vines grew from the ground instantaneously, wrapping around his legs and hips, tugging him towards the ground and causing his knees to buckle, wand clattering to the side. Desperate, he slammed his hands to the floor and allowed his magic to take over for a second, sending a clump of Severus' own vines to block the next attack, then sending a mini-earthquake towards the elder, watching him stumble even as Harry regained his own footing and wand.

" **Frango! Frango, Frango, Frango!** " Severus' shield shattered, sending the shards of his own spell rocketing back into the Potions Master, though he eradicated most of them with a magic-draining spell, its area-of-effect causing Harry to sag a little where he stood. He needed to end this, and quickly-

" **Motum inimicus**." And Severus was paralysed. Harry had won their Duel.

 

"Harry, Severus! Are you okay? Where are you hurt? That was-"

"What's happening? Is everything okay?!" was accompanied by the clattering of several people rushing down the basement steps. Within a minute, five people, Remus included, were crowding the two, all chattering loudly and waving hands around, demanding explanations.

"Everything's fine," Harry cut in, lifting the paralysis curse from Severus and subtly helping the man to stay stable for a few seconds,  
"We were just Duelling like normal. Don't know what all this fussing is about, really."

"The whole house was shaking-"

"The room is ruined-"

"You could have killed each other-"

 

"Just SHUT UP!" Harry roared, fed up with the amount of noise, and far more concerned about treating Severus' wounds,  
"Sorry for yelling, but we're fine, that was a standard Duel, the room is charmed to slow blood loss, we have rules and wards in place to prevent anything immediately fatal. We take the necessary precautions and we stop if we become too fatigued. It's  _training_ so we have to keep it as realistic as possible. That means fighting with full force. Better to do so now, in a non-urgent scenario where we have full control rather than on a battlefield. Understood? Good, thank you." With that, Harry turned to Severus, a clear dismissal, yet Remus, Molly, Ron, Ginny and Hermione remained where they stood. Electing to simply ignore them, Harry continued.

 

"Sorry about the hailstorm, but I needed to hide the Telae. Else I'd never have even caught you with it." When that didn't prompt the elder to raise his tattered trouser leg, Harry scowled,  
"Lemme see, you stubborn git. You know the drill."

"Yes, yes. But I'm looking at your back next."

"Sure...?" Harry acquiesced, confused because his back hadn't been hit, but focusing on the electrical burn regardless.

" **Integro caro et sanguis** ," he intoned, flicking his wand in the four directions of the compass, then drawing a tight corkscrew through the air, mimicking the motion of stitching a wound back together. And, as a rush of magic left him, he observed the burnt flesh seemingly revert to raw muscle, before stitching back together to form whole, unharmed flash with a slightly pink patch of skin. Well, at least it was healed and shouldn't scar.

"Idiot brat. You could have used a lesser healing spell than a flesh reversion."

"Didn't want to leave a scar."

"Hm." Severus' disapproval was obvious but only mild, so Harry grinned cheekily. The man only tapped his shoulder to get to him turn around. And now, moving, without the adrenaline flooding his system, Harry was abruptly very aware of the immense pain in his lower-back, radiating up his spine.

 

"Merlin!"   "Bloody hell!"   "Fuck!"   When Severus lifted the bloody mess of Harry's t-shirt, a collection of curses rang out from throughout the room.

"The detonation curse caught you, from the looks of things."

"It's fi- _Fucking hell Sev'rus_!" Harry hissed at the sudden uptick in pain as the elder cast his own flash reversion. The itching, squirmy sensation was overwhelmed by the agony, before all of it faded into a dull ache.

"Hypocrite," he sniped, even as he felt the weight of Severus' hand upon his back increase. They'd both tired themselves out.

"Brat."

"Git." Even as he retorted, Harry healed the last of the elder's minor wounds.

"Imp."

"Basta-"

 

"This is how you always train?!" Molly suddenly shrieked, worried hands wringing in the skirt of her dress,  
"This cannot be safe! How can you learn when you're bleeding to death! I-"

"Mrs. Weasley, please. Our training can't be completely safe, else I'll never learn anything."

"Severus, honestly, you cannot condone endangering-!" she implored.

"No, Mrs. Weasley," Harry interjected,  
"I'm sorry, but I asked for this training and by Godric and Salazar I'll go through with it."

"But-"

"I'm seventeen, I have a Dark Lord hanging over my head. I think I can handle a few Duels. If you'll excuse us?" At his pointed words, everybody left, although Remus only retreated to his seat and Transfigured his empty mug of chamomile tea into two tall glasses of fresh water,

"Here."

"Thanks Remus. Think we could leave the Duelling for a few hours?"

"Only a few hours?"

"Yeh. My magic recovers quite quickly, and I'm not that magically exhausted as it is. A bit drained at worst," the younger reassured, wilfully ignoring Severus' cutting glance. 

"...Alright, if you're sure."

"Of course." 

 

 

 

\-------------------------------

 

 **Voco Grando** \- lit. I call/I demand ice/hail/hailstorm, the hailstorm spell. This curse Conjures a hailstorm, although the volume, density and sharpness depends upon the amount of magic expended by the caster. Thus, the more powerful, the greater the number of sharper, more impactful hailstones which better match the heavy, shattering strength of natural ice.

 

 **Visus** **Mihi** \- lit. give me sight, the night-vision spell. Allows the caster to see in the dark, much like a cat or even Muggle night-vision goggles. Colours aren't visible, but outlines are visible in a silver-green tone. Clarification and distance are dependent upon both the control and magical input for the spell.

 

 **Integro Caro Et Sanguis** \- lit. repair/recreate flesh and blood, the flesh reversion spell. This spell is typically used upon burn wounds where the flesh has become damaged and often cauterised which would impact the normal healing if a laceration-healing charm was used. Instead, the flesh reversion spell allows the caster to undo this cauterisation and initiate more standard healing, wherein the flesh is regrown and knitted back together. Its 'complete-heal' nature results in a high magical toll. Additionally, as the spell deals with healing down to a cellular level, the caster must have excellent control to prevent mutations or incomplete healing.

 

 **Lumos separatum**   **-** lit. separate light, the light orb spell. Another derivative of the standard light-creating **'lumos'** , this charm forms a ball of light a little ways in front and above the caster, unless directed to a particular place. This spell's light is a little softer than most, but is more far-reaching and will last until the caster stops feeding it magical energy.

 

 **Frango; Telae Fulmen** \- see chapter 14 (I think? I hope so!)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was the way I wrote this Duel okay? I'm not at all used to writing action scenes, but I'm trying to get used to them. I quite liked how this one turned out, but what do you guys think?  
> Thanks for reading as always, love you guys! Ota - xxx.


	23. Optimistim, Improvements And Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the first time I wrote this - and it was 2200 words the first time round - I fuckin lost it because for some godforsaken reason it reverted to the first version. Which was all of 'vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv'. So I spent half an hour swearing and trying to see if I could recover it. I couldn't, so here's the shitty re-write.
> 
> Ah, sorry for all the cussing, but I was upset, to say the least. Worst part, it was probably my internet or something I did, so I can't even blame AO3 for it. I saved it! Read back over it, edited it and bloody re-saved it. Then it wasn't there!
> 
> Regardless of all that - enjoy! Love, Ota - xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: If you missed it, there was an out-of-schedule update this last... Tuesday? Wednesday? So please ensure you've read that first!

 

"So you're comfortable with the usual rules?"

"I do believe so." And with that, Harry began , immediately shooting off an  **Expelliarmus** , trying to gauge the werewolf's abilities. Remus easily shielded against the spell, causing Harry to grin,

"Going to make this fun for me then?"

"I will certainly attempt to," Remus replied, then intoned,

" **Hastam autem speculo**." Harry grinned even wider as the large spear of clear, sharp glass rocketed towards him, side-stepping a few paces and muttering,

" **Ediger** **e** ; **scandali**." In an instant, the projectile was curving back around towards the man, who tripped over nothing, landing backwards on his arse. For a moment, the panic was clear on his face, before he cancelled his own spell, the spear collapsing back into nothing. Then his wand was gone and in Harry's hand thanks to another  **Expelliarmus**.

 

"That incantation was far too long," the young man chided as he stepped forward to help Remus to his feet.

"Yes, it rather was. I'm out of practice."

"You don't say," Severus sneered, joining the two.

" _Severus_." Harry jabbed the Potions Master in the ribs,

"Look, why don't we head up to the attic? Remus can use the Duelling dummies."

"Very well. So long as you utilise the opportunity to revisit your Field Healing." Harry simply nodded in acquiescence, gesturing for Remus to lead the way.

 

"Remus will be fine once he's gotten back into the rhythm of it. It'll be fine. It  _has_ to be." And hearing the desperate note to those last words, and seeing the tremulousness in the smile, Severus resisted the urge to curl an arm around the younger's shoulders, to tuck him in close to his side. Instead, he made do with poking the brat in the shoulder.

"Indeed; it will all be fine. We'll make sure of it, will we not?"

 

After dinner that evening, Harry and Severus had beaten a hasty retreat to their room, craving a little solitude. Or, well, peace and quiet.

"Hey, Severus, think you could cover for me tomorrow evening?" The elder merely raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Oh come on, pleeeease," the brat whined, rolling over so that his head hung upside down off of the edge of his bed, green eyes wide and hopeful, face pale yet content, but for the whining. 

"That would depend on why and where."

"I want to go to a Muggle tattooist, the one in London where I got my pentacles done. It's fairly safe, I managed it easily last time. And it should only take a few hours."

"Hm." That face had already made his mind up for him, but Harry didn't need to know that yet.

"Please Severus? I'll have my Portkey from last time, and I can legally defend myself now. I'll be careful."

"Very well, so long as you provide me with the address in case of emergency." The brat shot up, sending his glasses flying, excitement evident,

"Of course! Thanks Sev!" 

"Sev?"

"Uh- sorry- I- uhm- I didn't- you-" As the brat spluttered and blushed, Severus merely hummed in amusement and returned his attention to his book. Idiot brat.

 

 

Laying in the tattooist's chair, the low buzz of the gun and slight, constant sting of the fresh ink soothing him, Harry allowed himself some time to simply relax and reflect. Remus, despite the abysmal performance the previous day, had done far better today, still not beating Harry, but he did get a few decent shots in. Plus this time the Duel lasted long enough for Harry to get a feel for the werewolf's Duelling style. Himself and Severus were both agile, quick Duellers. They thought fast, spoke fast, moved fast and typically went for the instant kill, if they could get it. Remus, on the other hand, was a steadier fighter, who stayed within the same two-metre box but manipulated his surroundings brilliantly. In fact, he'd given himself the literal high ground, making it harder for harry to utilise his own standard strategy. The improvements that he'd already made paid homage to his capabilities. It really _had_ just been a matter of being out of practice. And they should still have around a week until the three of them began to ring around the werewolf packs, which should be easily enough time to make sure that they all knew each other's battling styles well enough to protect each other, to work together, if they were attacked.

 

Sneaking back into he and Severus' room, Harry missed how the elder silently sighed in something close to relief.

"I'm back!"

"I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, don't be a grump," the young man retorted, grinning all the while. Severus merely snorted in reply, eyes trailing over Harry, cataloguing the minor differences in his stance.

"Hurts?"

"Only a little. If I take - where is it? - ah, here we go. If I take this, I can take the bandage straight off." A scrutinising eye cast over the potion Harry was brandishing,

"Basic preventative potion."

"Yep. It'll keep any infections out, and I already took a little Communis Curatio."

"Very well. May I ask what this tattoo looks like then, considering I have helped you to get it."

"I would've showed you without you bargaining your case."

"You mean arguing my case."

"No, I mean bargaining. Slytherin."

"Well, that's rather a given."

"Shut up, you git."

"Only if you get on with it."

"Yeh, yeh," Harry grumbled good-naturedly, beaming at the man for a moment before tugging his shirt over his head.

 

"Those are sakura, correct?"

"Correct," Harry confirmed. The tattoo began at the ball of his right shoulder, elegant swirls and long lines of black trailed down the outside of his arm to form a long branch, each of its offshoots decorated with clusters of red. Whilst the branch itself ended a an inch or so down from his elbow, the blossoms themselves continued to trail down to his wrist, the last of them smack-bam on his wrist bone.

“It is quite stunning. May I ask the of their significance?” Harry glanced over at the elder searchingly, before seemingly finding an appropriate emotion or motive.

“The sakura, primarily, represents patriotism and the fleeting if beautiful nature of life. They’re so pretty and didn’t have any… personal connotations that were too painful. Plus, I like the idea of ‘hanami’ which is a sort of festival in Japan where families and friends gather to watch the falling flowers. It just sounds so… peaceful and happy. Mellow. I thought I could do with some of that kind of positivity, you know? A hope for better things to come, even if nothing lasts forever.”

“That’s very sweet,” Severus’ tone was somewhere in between teasing, fond and snide.

“Oh hush, you old cynic. Allow a guy some optimism.”

“Very well. Tomorrow, all the walls of this house shall be green or blue, deep but not oppressive. The entire building will be spotless, no riff-raff shall clutter its rooms, every possible book and potions ingredient shall be available for our use and we shall be undisturbed for the rest of our lives. That infernal abomination of a portrait shall have been utterly decimated. How’s that for optimism?” Severus challenged. But Harry did not rise to it, oh no. Instead, he was gaping at the elder.

“That- that sounds like some sort of dream…”

“Definitely optimism then,” Severus said, a little forcefully. At his strong tone, the young man shook himself out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.

“True. Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Severus confirmed, and once they were beneath covers, lights off, he went on, “No nightmares.”

“No nightmares.” And so the two drifted off.

 

 

\-------------------------------

 

 

 **Hastam autem speculo** \- lit, spear of glass, the glass spear spell.  This spell Conjures a spear made of a sharp, translucent and brittle material much like glass. The larger, heavier and faster this spear, the more magical power was put into the spell. The caster has a measure of control over the movement of this projectile, but only in vague terms of direction. As such, the spear can target a specific person or point. However, as it is made of glass, the spear can be somewhat fragile and will typically shatter upon contact, or if it is pushed to travel too quickly, resulting in shrapnel that can do significant damage. This latter fact can be used to the caster's advantage or disadvantage, so one must be considerate of the situation upon casting and controlling this spell.

 

 **Ego redigere** \- lit, I redirect you, the redirection spell. Allows the caster to change the direction of a moving object or even organism. However, this spell can require massive amounts of willpower and magical power, as one must overcome any previous control over the target object first, else the target will be unaffected or possibly implode.

 **Edigere** \- Harry's amalgamation of the redirection spell. This abbreviation afforded him extra time that can often be essential in a Duel. Even a single mili-second can change the tides of a fight, assuring triumph of loss. Spending a long time on an incantation gives one's opponent more time to cast a counter-curse, dodge or retaliate more directly. Albeit, amalgamations are wilder, as losing some of the syllables loses some of the inherent control over the spell.

 

 **Scandali** \- lit, trip over, the tripping jinx. Typically used as a prank, this spell causes any standing target to trip, even if they're stationary. Whilst not immediately applicable to a Duel, this spell can provide a necessary advantage if used with good timing.

 

 **Communis Curatio -** lit, general/universal/common healing/treatment/care, the general healing potion. Speeds up the body's natural healing, and helps wounds to close more quickly.

 


	24. Of Three Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me from about 600 words in all the way to the 1567th. Please enjoy, sorry there's no actual summary. Next chapter will see some action!

 

Perhaps wearing a t-shirt the very next day wasn't the best idea. Although, by the same token, he couldn't avoid short-sleeves forever. At least he and Severus had eaten breakfast ridiculously early, and thus alone, that morning. Even if the elder had needed to go and brew some potions, leaving Harry to his own devices for the day. Hence coming into the library to be with 'Mione and Ginny.

"Harry, is that a tattoo?"

"Why yes Ginny, I do believe you're right," he replied, winking, totally not trying to play it off.

"Wha- How- When did you get it?"

"Last night," Harry answered, nonchalant.

"But how?" interjected Hermione.

"Well I snuck out of course. It was quite safe."

"Harry!" she scolded, "That was terribly irresponsible! Did anyone even know where you'd gone? What if you'd been attacked? Didn't you-"

"Mione, I had my wand, Invisibility cloak and a Portkey. Plus, I got it done in Muggle London, in an area I'm familiar with. I was going crazy cooped up in here all the time. And I left a note that was charmed to find Severus if I didn't return within four hours." And, okay, the last point was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth that it shouldn't matter. It was better than incriminating Severus too, at any rate.

"Still, Harry..."

"Leave it 'Mione, please?" he pouted at her.

"Oh, fine. At least it's a pretty one, not some ugly skull or something."

"Oi!" The two girls began giggling and, after a moment of half-hearted glaring, Harry joined in.

 

"So, where is Ron this fine morning?" he asked, standing to fetch a few books.

"He's sulking in your- well, in his room."

"Okay... dare I ask why?"

"Because he's angry that you're spending all your time with Snape." Harry was shocked, and a little offended, to hear that. Ron was actually sulking over it? He'd known that the other was unhappy about his and Severus' friendship, but really. This was getting ridiculous.

"Ginny-" Mione began, but was quickly cut off,

"There's no point lying, Hermione, he'd have figured it out pretty quick anyway I reckon." 

"Why's it such a big deal to him? It's not like I suddenly don't care about you guys." Harry derailed the argument before it could truly begin.

"But that's how he feels. And we've always been dead-set against the Professor, even if you said he wasn't quite so bad last year. And the fact that he's saved your life quite a few times now."

"Exactly! Yeh, he can be a git, an absolute bastard really, but so can I- we all can! He-" Okay, he could do with not divulging Severus' secrets, so maybe he should shut up now,  
"Look. Severus is helping me. He's been supporting me far more than he needs to and- and- I don't know! We keep an eye out for each other. And this isn't me saying that nobody else helps me or matters to me, because you all do, but it's just  _different_. " Both of the girls were wide-eyed at his mini-rant, but Hermione had a warm smile on her face.

"That's good Harry. I'm happy for you."

"Y-yeh," Ginny tacked on, clearly a little unsure, but the sentiment was there.

"Thanks you two. Look after Ron for me?" Receiving affirmatives, Harry returned to the bookshelves once more. What  _had_ he been looking for?

 

"Harry James Potter, is that a new tattoo?!" And here came the deja vu.

"Yes," he replied carefully, keeping his tone light and trying to keep out any inflection.

"How did you get it? If you snuck out-!"

"I did. It was fine. I've done it before, once or twice. It's safe."

"Safe?!" Molly screeched, positively enraged with protective ire.

"Yes. My location - which was in Muggle London - would've been sent to Severus if I didn't return within the expected four hours. I had my wand, cloak and a Portkey. I was absolutely fine. And how do you think I got my pentacles? I went out then, same place, same precautions. I've been absolutely fine both times. I'm not going to be kidnapped by a Death Eater on the Underground, trust me."

"Oh but Harry, that's terribly dangerous," she had obviously softened now, sounding more despairing than angry.

"What isn't though?" came the wry reply. A little misty-eyed, and clearly still unhappy, Molly simply nodded.

"But please take somebody with you next time. Tonks, or Severus or somebody else who's more... experienced." Fighting the urge to take offence, she was only trying look after him, Harry agreed. There was little chance of him risking Severus like that, but he'd consider it. And Tonks might be fun, at least she'd probably be able to blend in, unlike most of the Order members. Shuddering at the thought of dragging Arthur through the London Underground, Harry finally took his seat at the table. Thank Merlin for the distraction of food.

 

 

It was another two days of Duelling with Remus and Severus, plotting the order of packs and debating negotiation tactics before there was an Order Meeting.

"Good evening everyone, if I may have your attention?" McGonagall began, silencing the few quiet conversations around the table.

"Thank you. Firstly, does anybody have anything pressing to discuss?" Harry immediately sat forward in his seat, meeting the witch's gaze,

"Very well. Mr. Potter?"

"I'm sure you all remember that Remus, Severus and I have been planning to approach the various werewolf packs with the view to obtaining Vows of neutrality?" Seeing a number of nods and murmured assents, Harry went on,  
"We intend to negotiate with all nine of the packs over the next two weeks, assuming things stay fairly close to schedule. We will begin with the Warner, Lux and York packs, as they will likely be the most open to making a Vow. Then the Phelon, McCain, Wren and Teller's. We will try to get a meeting with the Mallor's and Kinnon's, but they might not even agree to discussions. As previously mentioned, we will be aiming for neutrality over actual allegiance. It's a far more reasonable expectation, and not one that can get them killed unless He deliberately hunts them down. Any objections? No? Good." And with that he was done. No fighting, no arguments, no complaints. It was a far-cry from any typical decisions to be made by the Order. Severus couldn't help but smirk at the fact. 

 

"Very well," and McGonagall took over once more,  
"If that's settled, is there anything else immediate?"

"Bill and Fleur should be here in just over a week. The sixteenth, to be exact." A low murmur, distinctly positive to hear, made its rounds through the room, gradually devolving into several small conversations. After a few minutes, McGonagall pulled everyone's attention back to the task at hand. Luckily, this particular Meeting wasn't overly involved or aggravating, finishing up at ten, and leaving the residents of Grimmauld Place to traipse their ways upstairs to their respective rooms. Harry and Severus, not having to remain and talk to Poppy as with the last few occasions, peeled off first, heading to their shared bedroom.

 

 

"It may not be our current priority, but have you given any thought to the other Horcruxes that surely exist?" The two had settled in their room, though not so much so that their books had yet been opened. And with an opening question like that, they likely wouldn't be for a good while.

"Not particularly, beyond that they probably exist, and that there might be one or two at Hogwarts." The elder contemplated for a few moments,

"That would be logical. He is a...  not an _emotional_ creature, but something like it. I expect that He, like ourselves, considered Hogwarts as a precious, safe space. And what better 'fuck you' to Albus?" Harry snorted in reply. Trust Severus to swear during this discussion,

"Pretty much my thoughts, yeh."

"Hm. We shall have to go looking there sometimes soon. And figure out a way to locate any that are doubtlessly further afield."

"Sounds like a plan. Werewolves first though?"

"Werewolves first."

 

For nearly a minute, neither moved. They should have been researching, or rehearsing plans, or predicting negotiations, but instead they sat a measly few metres opposite each other, staring at the same patch of wooden flooring, dark and well-worn, faintly stained with something too old and scrubbed-at to determine.

 

"There's so much to do, to deal with, isn't there?" The younger finally murmured, sounding every inch of the Atlas he was forced to be, bearing the weight of thousands upon his bony shoulders, too helpless despite all the fiery will and wiry muscles and magical prowess he possessed.

"Indeed. But we are not alone."

"No, I suppose we're not..." Both flushed a little at the reminder of weaker moments.

"We have each other anyway, right?" And Harry's voice was strong, for all that Severus could see the tense lines of his shoulder, and the slight trembling in his hands,

"That we do," he reassured. What else could he do? What was to be done except support the brat, try to keep Harry alive, and provide him with any morsel of happiness and comfort available? Merlin knew that the young man had suffered enough already. He deserved everything good and then some more. And Severus would grab whatever he could for his brat, even if it meant scrabbling at glass; nails breaking and bending, skin tearing and scraping. He would do everything he could, if only for Harry.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's occurred to me that I'm using Molly to try and tell Harry off a lot. And he shuts her down every time. I don't particularly intend this to be portraying Molly in a negative way, more that she is a mother and sees Harry as one of her own. Which, whilst he appreciates the element of care and acceptance, often rubs Harry up the wrong way. Between the Dursleys and Dumbledore's lenience, Harry is simultaneously very mature and very unrealising of his own importance. As such, he is also very not used to being told what to do or being admonished out of school. So when Molly tries to scold him as she would any of her children, he just dismisses her. He's used to sneaking around and doing things his own way and disobeying rules, even the ones he really probably shouldn't. So, when somebody without any technical authority (and even with someone who does) tries to 'order him about' he simply doesn't listen. By the same token, he does like Molly, so he tries to do so respectfully but our boy has a temper plus an independent streak a mile wide-and-then-some, so he doesn't always manage to be overly polite about it. Hope that helps to expand on the Molly-Harry dynamic!


	25. Aiming For Neutrality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Three Muskateers visit werewolf pack #1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sLeEp? Who is she?
> 
> Is that even still a thing? Was it a meme or a vine? Who knows. Either way, it’s accurate, as this chapter comes to you from 'its 5:09am and I'm absolutely shattered but my brain wouldn’t shut up' so here we are - enjoy! Xxx

 

The three had spent the morning doing final run-throughs of their plans and procedures; they had double-checked their Portkeys and were now digging into lunch. They'd need the energy, that was for sure. After all, in a few hours they would be headed out to meet with the Warner pack. And Harry had to admit, he was a little jittery. To say the least. After all, the last expedition, of sorts, that he’d led had been to the Ministry. And look how that had turned out. Still, he reassured himself, he had Remus and Severus with him, he was meeting specific people at a specific place for a specific purpose. All three of them had Portkeys and their wands, should they need them. They would be fine. They had to be.

 

“Harry?” Severus’ voice was no different to normal, on the surface. Only Harry caught the softer undertone, telling of uncertainty, bordering on concern.

“Yep?” he returned, offering a grin that he only half felt.

“Ready?”

“I reckon. You two?”

“Certainly,” Severus’ reply was immediate, leaving Remus to answer. And, after a few seconds of patting down his pockets, the werewolf nodded confidently.

“Right. Shall we go then?”

“Indeed.” Thirty seconds later, they had walked out of the door and Apparated away.

 

Appearing in the Lincolnshire Wolds, in the depths of a particularly wooded area, only a few metres from a bubbling chalk stream, the three stood shoulder to shoulder, Remus and Severus just a step behind the youngest, showing deference. Werewolves, much like their smaller, less human counterparts, respected hierarchy within a group. Adhering to that should only win them points. It was a far better impression than a lone wolf for sure.

“Greetings, Alpha Warner,” Harry bowed to the figure that melted out of the shadows, carefully cataloguing the other five still stood in amongst the trees.

“And to you, Potter cub.”

“I am no cub, but I thank you all the same,” Harry sniped, his civility not quite curbing the vicious tone. The alpha in front of him only smiled, all teeth, yellow eyes flashing in some kind of half-feral delight, her coarse hair swinging as she cocked her head,

“Very good Potter, very good.”

“I should hope so,” accompanied by his own wolfish grin,  
“Care to introduce your entourage?”

“I suppose I should. Brown, Warner, Oust, Petherk and Cross,” as she gave each name, another person stepped into the clearing, and prowled to her side. Harry nor his companions missed how Brown and Warner – the latter looking to be her son – were the two to take the immediate positions just behind her. The left-hand and the heir then.

“Snape, Lupin, though I’m aware you know the latter. Shall we begin?”

“We shall. State your terms.” Right into it then. For the better, really.

“Your allegiance.”

“Absolutely not. Neutrality perhaps.”

“Unfortunate. Very well.” Harry resisted the urge to smirk already. Not until they’d gotten what they wanted,  
“A Vow of Neutrality. It would be unfair to expect a Oath. But, respectively,  a Pledge simply isn’t acceptable on our end.”

“And what would be the wording of this Vow?”

“I, as Alpha of the Warner Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be.”

“A minute.”

 

Keeping the six carefully in his peripheral, Harry half-turned to Severus, a single eyebrow raised.

“Unfortunate, as you said,” the man reported, tapping his finger once upon his thigh. Good, Severus didn’t see any problems so far either. Harry hadn’t trodden wrong and their tactics were working so far. Hopefully it’d stay that way. Facing forward once more, but still not directly staring at the werewolves, not wanting to appear overly rude or insistent, the three were left to stand in silence for an interminable stretch of time that felt far too long for how little the sun moved above the canopy. Finally, the alpha recovered the distance that had been made between the two envoys.

“We would agree to the Vow, should we receive a Vow in return guaranteeing our safety from your side.” Taking a moment, but sensing no dissent from either of his companions, Harry nodded.

“That’s fine. I’m sure you understand that I ask you take your Vow first?”

“I am amenable. I, as Alpha of the Warner Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be.” A bright flash of silver-blue illuminated the clearing, blinding where it reflected off of the stream, a chorus of howls heard, way off in the distance.

“Thank you. I, Harry James Potter, as a representative of the Order, Vow that none of mine shall seek to harm the Warner Pack unless in self-defence, upon our offensive magic, so mote it be.” Once the light passed, the alpha leered at him for a moment,

“You are a tricky one, Potter, but that is my own mistake.” There was no anger in those citrus eyes, only amusement.

“Understand, it is no insult to you.”

“No, it is not. You are only doing as an Alpha should. It is pleasing.”

“Alpha?” he questioned, voice a little weak.

“Indeed. Even if it is not yet realised.”

“…Thank you. Good day Alpha Warner, and company of course.”

“Good day Potter, Lupin, Snape. Good luck in your endeavours.”

“And to you in yours.” Stepping back, slotting in between his two companions, the three of the Apparated back into London.

 

“That went well. Weirdly, but well.”

“Indeed it did. Well done, brat.”

“Yes, very well handled Harry. And that return Vow-!”

“I couldn’t leave us defenceless, could I? But we need to tell everyone that the Warners are off-limits, just in case.”

“True. Still, a few Patroni should be sufficient. As long as we intend for them to be private ones, that'll do.”

“Yeh. We’re gonna need to bring in something better soon though. I wonder…” Abruptly, Harry returned down the hallway and headed up the stairs instead. Shaking his head dismissively, Severus simply continued into the kitchen. Merlin, he needed a coffee. And Harry would doubtless demand one as soon as he came back down.

 

As predicted, entering the room silently only ten minutes later, grin bright across his face, the young man immediately slumped into the seat next to the Potions Master and inhaled half of his cup at once.

“Ah, I needed that. Thanks Severus.” He only grunted in reply.

“When’s the next Meeting again?”

“I’m not your calendar, brat: four days time. We’ll be seeing the Lux pack first, on ----- afternoon. And we need to plan around the- well, I’m sure you know that much.” Ignoring Remus’ curious looks, Harry nodded miserably. Then brightened.

“At least that’s one pack down, only eight to go.”

“Only eight to go. Shall we send off those Patroni now?”

“Ugh, give me a minute first. I could do with another cup of coffee first.”

“Merlin, you’re such a brat.”

“It’s incurable.”

“It certainly is.” But Severus stood all the same, gathered their two mugs and headed over to the kettle, boiling it with a second’s worth of magic.

 

“How did it go you three?” Molly asked, bustling into the room, with Ron, Ginny and Hermione at her heels.

“Quite well, thank you Molly. Harry handled it beautifully.”

“Good, good,” she answered, managing to only sound a little forced at the mention of Harry’s leading role. They all knew how difficult she was finding it, having any of her children on the front-lines, as it were.

“Did you get to fight anyone?” Ron asked eagerly, apparently forgetting about his mood at the mention of any kind of action.

“No, thank Merlin. Don’t know what I would’ve done if it had been another Ministry,” Harry offered, voice not quite acerbic, but the flippancy was enough for Ron to subside instantly. Hermione was quick to interject,

“I’d glad there weren’t any problems. What was the pack like? Their alpha?” Happy to indulge nay curiosity not focused around himself, particularly in his current good mood, Harry began explaining about the obvious power behind the female alpha, about her second and her left-hand, how the pack members that they met all seemed to meld into the same space, natural with each other and themselves.

 

Half an hour later, once the stream of questions had died down and they’d had a chance to get over the situation, Harry, Severus and Remus headed down into the basement to send off their Patroni messengers.

“ **Expecto Patronum** ,” the two intoned simultaneously, both shocked to see matching jaguars, melanistic judging by the depth of their silver and the little variation in tone for their spots, spring forth, instantly moving to brush shoulders with each other. Glancing at each other, both Harry and Severus were quick to dismiss their shock-turned-resignation, and began speaking to their respective Patroni, Harry’s a little smaller and stockier than Severus’. As the ethereal creatures melt through the wall, Harry dares to brush his hand against the elder’s arm.

“It’s alright, idiot brat.”

“I should hope so!” he teases in return, beginning to intone the spell once more. Withholding a sigh, Severus did the same. They had to tell the whole Order that the Warner pack were practically untouchable. Well, only technically. And even if they did go after the werewolves, they would retain their defensive magic, thanks to Harry’s little word-play. For all that the younger could be dense, and certainly acted it often, he was actually quite razor-minded and silver-tongued, should he be so inclined. Little Slytherin.

 

“That’s everyone, yes?”

“Yes,” as they began to ascend the stairs once more, Severus went on,  
“I assume it was those infernal twins you went to speak to earlier?”

“You know what I said about assuming.” Snorting, Severus jabbed the brat in the side, who simply pouted for a moment before continuing,

“But, yeh, I figured we were a bit too busy to actually be inventing stuff that doesn’t directly contribute to our current projects.”

“You were right. Though might I suggest we devote some of this afternoon to a little side-research?”

“Patronus forms?”

“Patronus forms,” he confirmed. Harry huffed, not really meaning it. He was undeniably curious as well.

 

For a good hour so, the two volleyed little snippets of information about their supposed spirit animal.

“Highly artistic and intuitive. A generous description, in your case.”  "Shut up Severus."

“Aggressive at times. Who was it that destroyed Albus’ office again?”  "What did I say earlier?"  "Nothing I haven't heard before."  "That's for sure."

“Capable of possessing great power, but they are often solitary people.”  "No shit."

“Cloaks its true identity in the shadows. You don’t say.”

“Independent from a young age.”  "I suppose it doesn't specify a choice in the matter."

“Great courage – I’m not some bloody Gryffindor, thank you.”   “Associated with clear sigh, instinct and calculated movement – I’m not some bloody Slytherin.”  "Well played, brat."

 

“Beyond all that, there’s the fact that we share the Patronus form.” The two stilled for a long moment, hardly daring to look at each other, lest they do something they shouldn’t. Again.

“Yes… It’s a representation of… dedication, shall we say?”

“I think we’d better,” Harry agreed, flushing and unsure, yet resolute all the same.

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t…”

“I know. I’m the same.”

“Good.”

“Yeh,” Harry croaked, voice cracking even worse than the elder’s had been. There wasn’t much more to say, really. The war came first. It always would.

 

 

\----------------------------------------

 

 

Each pack has an alpha, a second and a left-hand. There may be a second alpha within a pack only in the case of mated couples who share the power equally.

The second is the heir to the pack, often the direct blood descendent of the current alpha. Thus, the alphas of a single pack often follow the same bloodline. Regardless, the second, as the name implies, holds the second-most rank in the pack, only below the alpha and equal to the left-hand. As such, they are to be deferred to and can act as interim alpha in the case of illness or the deliberate division of the pack (e.g. for battle, scouting or hunting).

Left-hands are the enforcers of the pack. They carry out the alpha’s will. Stereotyped as ruthless and powerful, they are equal to the second and are the primary protector of the pack as they take out enemies, often lead attacks and ensure the integrity of their territory’s borders.

 

 

_[excerpt from **Page 1, Chapter 1: A Brief Induction; Sworn, Taken Or Given** , by Valer Robards, published 1972]_

 

_To categorise and summarise them in simple terms, Oaths, Vows and Pledges are as follows:_

_An Oath is a guarantee of a celestial or emotional kind, or possibly both, as one takes an oath of fealty or love. It is Taken._

_A Vow is an insurance of adherence to pre-agreed terms, typically wirh specific conditions and goals. It is Sworn._

_A Pledge is a promise, typically of a service or action, such as promising troops or to act as a messenger. It is Given._

 

 

[ _excerpt from **Page 56, Chapter 4: Repercussions And Warnings; Sworn, Taken Or Given** ]_

 

_Pledges are the most flexible option and have the kindest repercussions, by typical standards in a normative situation. An Oath's severity can vary wildly dependent upon wording and intent, whilst Vows are very harsh unless any consequences for failure are specifically lessened during the Swearing._

 

 


	26. He's Behind You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some summary, then some action. Because we haven't seen any Death Eaters yet!

 

Their meeting with the Lux pack went much the same as that with the Warner pack, though they weren't so cautious as to demand a counter Vow for amnesty, despite their distinctly chillier attitude. Still, the neutrality was all they needed, and it was all the better for the Order if they could avoid Vowing anything, no matter of how relevant it may or may not be. The less beholden they were to others the better.

 

And speaking of the Order, they were about to start a Meeting.

"Good evening everyone. I believe we were to start with the werewolves. Remus?"

"Harry, it's your venture." Nodding to the werewolf, Harry began, pitching his voice low but carrying, refusing to accept any inattention,

"As you're aware, we've spoken with the Warner pack, who have agreed to no participance, so long as no Order member seeks to harm any of them. However, if you do for any reason, such as the Aurors among us with arrests, need to 'attack' them, then you will only lose your offensive magic if you intend harm. So stick to binding and disarming with neutral werewolves. It is better than risking the loss of all your magic." He refused to phrase that as a question. It _was_ better and they should be grateful that there was any leniency at all.

"Last night, we negotiated with the Lux pack. Lux didn't ask for any return Vows, so there are no stipulations affecting us all there. Tomorrow night, we will approach the York pack, which will hopefully go much the same. And onwards from there. Any questions?" Receiving none, Harry sat back a little, allowing a small smile to slip in when a gentle finger tapped thrice just above his knee. 

 

Negotiations with the York pack did indeed proceed much the same, again with no additional Vow to be made by Harry. And the Phelon and McCain packs, as with Alpha Warner, demanded a return Vow. Phelon did insist upon more specific wording, but acquiesced when Harry pushed, citing the potential future need for his own betas relying on protection from the Order and Aurors. And thus five packs had Sworn neutrality, if in three cases with the added insurance of no possible attacks from the Order. Harry was both suspicious and pleasantly surprised that it had been going so well. So of course then it all went wrong.

 

Apparating into their sixth forest clearing in ten days, Harry, Severus and Remus found themselves a few metres away from, again, five werewolves. All of the entourages had been five to seven so far.

"Greetings Alpha Wren."

"Potter. Who's with you?" Ooh, one of the blunter ones. These were always fun. 

"Snape and Lupin. And with you?"  The man sneered, eyes fixating on Severus,

"A Death Eater? Or is he reformed?" Knowing that the 'wolf would likely sense any lie, Harry simply dodged the question,

"He's loyal to me, and I to him. We are both Order members. Is that sufficient?" His words were simultaneously sharp and dismissive, like the glancing sting of a papercut, yet never so fragile as paper,  
"Now. Who's with you?"

"Holde, White, Tyrell and Garth." And judging from their positioning, Holde was the enforcer. The second wasn't here, instead presumably with the rest of the pack. Understandable.

"What are your terms, Potter?"

"I can not expect you to join us?" There was no point to even holding up that farce with Wren. He was a brash, independent man of distinctly Grey persuasions, but still. They both knew it.

"Then neutrality from your pack."

"Wording?"

"I, as Alpha of the Wren Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be. Acceptable?"

"Only if you return a Vow not to hurt my wolves."

"Very well. If you would go first-"

"No. Your wording?" Surprise, surprise. After all, blunt often didn't mean dumb.

"That as a representative of the Order I would swear that none of mine shall seek to harm the Wren Pack unless in self-defence, upon our offensive magic."

"Wait there." Way to be polite. 

 

The five returned a way towards the treeline, a slapdash privacy ward erected, and entered discussions. Slashing their own into place, Harry immediately turned to Severus.

"Can we risk losing defensive magic too?"

"Not really. But keeping-"  *****

"Yeh, I suppose. But-"

"I know. Still-"

"True. Alright then, we'll go with that."

"It'll have to do."  Remus simply stood next to them, trying not to show his bewilderment. Did the two even realise that what they'd half-said made no sense? Well, to him at least.

 

A good ten minutes later, long after Harry had taken down his own ward, the pack delegation stepped back towards the trio.

"It needs a bit of changing. Not upon your offensive magic, but upon your magic."

"Unthinkable. Upon our offensive and defensive magic. Leave us Healing magic. I will not allow my people to die if I can in any way prevent it."

"Commendable, if annoying. Very well, upon your non-Healing magics."

"Agreed. So long as you Swear first."

"I, as Alpha of the Wren Pack, Vow that none of mine shall contribute towards the side of the Dark Lord in this Wizarding War, upon the wolves of me and mine, so mote it be."

"I, Harry James Potter, as a representative of the Order, Vow that none of mine shall seek to harm the Warner Pack unless in self-defence, upon our non-Healing magics, so mote it be."

 

Just as the second light filled the clearing, an urgent howl echoed through the forest. Instantaneously, the delegation was gone, running due north. With nary a second's hesitation, Harry followed, Severus at his side, Remus half a pace behind them. Flashes of light, too much of it red and green for comfort, burst in shattering brilliance just beyond the trees. Erecting a shield, Harry didn't slow, bursting into another, larger clearing. Blood, bodies and hexes met him.

" **Telae Fulmen! Scandali! Cancio!** " he chanted, bouncing his aim from black-robe and white-mask to another. His right hand stayed at his hip, maintaining the Mirror-Shield that protected the three of them. At his side, he could hear the two elder men intoning their own attacks. Then his attention snapped to a child - no more than four or five - in the path of an unfamiliar indigo light. Without thinking, he turned his magic to a,  
" **Protimo!** "throwing out the shield to protect the little girl. The indigo light rammed against it, dissipating for a moment before being reflected back at some Death Eater. But then Harry screamed, refuting the yrge to drop his wand and clutch at his shoulder, instead re-erecting the shield covering he, Severus and Remus.

"Harry-!"

"I'm fine. Focus!" He urged, casting a blurred,  
" **Et steterunt cruentis** ," and mentally declaring that good enough, went back to sending out curses.

 

At some point of other, Remus and Severus were pulled away from him, engaging in small scale duels with their more capable opponents, Harry himself dealing with two Death Eaters. When his shield was shattered, he took on a few more cuts, and a violent tripping curse cracked something in his leg. Just as he took out one enemy with a muttered  **Expelliarmus** , an unfamiliar werewolf, clearly delirious in pain and fury, came blundering towards him, arms swinging. Dodging the first swipe, Harry promptly got caught by the second, stumbling over his damaged leg and trying to bring back a shield to stop the main enemy from killing either of them.

" **Stupefy!** " The werewolf would hopefully be fine - would have to be - because if Harry hadn't got him out of the way they both would've died there and then. Panting, bleeding seriously yet again, Harry whirled on uncertain footing to take out the Death Eater. A volley of spells later, he was struggling to stay on his feet, but his opponent was down and, looking around, there were only crumpled bodies, Remus, Severus and what looked to be Wren and White to be seen stood.

 

Wavering on the spot, but determined to start healing people, Harry was quick to halt the worst of his own bleeding and turn to the werewolf he'd stunned.

" **Ferula. Cruentis ad finem. Cruentis ad-** " Suddenly Harry was blown forward by a shockwave of pure magic. Clattering half to the ground, half on top of something lukewarm and slightly squishy, Harry tried to brandish his wand behind of him. To summon a shield. Anything.

"Cursed boy! My Lord will be pleased-"

" **Sistere! Incarcerous! Stupefy! Caecum ad eos!"** Severus' voice rang out acorss the clearing, distinct over the silence of death and cries of the injured. Harry couldn't move, could hardly breathe. Death Eaters had attacked the Wren pack. They'd chosen to attack when Harry was there. They must have known. They attacked because of him. People got hurt - got killed because of him. Again!

 

Lost in a spiral of panic, Harry didn't register as Severus raced to his side, casually kicking the heavily bound Fenrir further away from them, and began to talk to him.

 

 

 

\-------------------

 

*****

"Can we risk losing defensive magic too?"

"Not really. But keeping-" Healing magic might have to do.

"Yeh, I suppose. But-" a fatal spell...

"I know. Still-" a fatal spell is a fatal spell. And we well know that defensive magic can't protect against them all.

"True. Alright then, we'll go with that."

"It'll have to do."  Remus simply stood next to them, trying not to show his bewilderment. Did the two even realise that what they'd half-said made no sense? Well, to him at least.

 

 

 **Candens Facio** \- lit. to make red-hot, the Burn Spell. This causes the surface of the target, whether animate or inanimate, to burn, funny enough, red-hot. The physical effect varies dependent upon the target's properties, but it is known to cause severe burns. Wood, paper or fabric, for example, will often ignite, provided it is dry and not imbued with magic. As such, it is unlikely that a wand would go up in flames, though it may well begin to char. More flame-retardant materials such as stone will simply become hot, scalding anything in contact with them, but not melting without extreme power and intent from the caster.

 **Cancio** \- Harry's almagamation of  **Candens Facio** , this allows him to cause a more severe burn in a shorter time period, thus lessening the duration of his concentration and power that must be devoted to the spell whilst still providing a worthwhile effect. Albeit, within this short time frame, the focus and magical output must be immense.

 

 **Et steterunt cruentis** - lit. to halt bleeding, the Bleed Spell. This healing spell acts as a pause button, effectively, as it temporarily halts the flow of blood from a wound. It takes far less magic and attention than a genuine healing does, so is often used in battle or if the caster is at risk of magical exhaustion and needs to conserve energy.

 

 **Cruentis ad finem**   **-** to end bleeding, the Flesh Closing Spell. Whilst this spell doesn't completely heal a wound, it does prevent severe bleeding by knitting back together most of the flesh, leaving only a light surface wound that will bleed very little. As it's not a complete healing, this spell, much like **et steterunt cruentis** doesn't require massive amounts of magical energy, although it is still more demanding than the Bleed Spell.

 

 **Sistere** - lit, to stop. The Stopping Spell halts all physical movements of an inanimate target, and all those voluntary of an animate target, including speech, but excluding bodily functions such as breathing and their heart. The quick incantation is most useful in an urgent situation, such as a rescue or during a battle. Whilst only intended for a single target, a powerful wizard can cast this as an area-of-effect spell, affecting multiple targets in the same place at once.

 

 **Caecum ad eos** \- lit. to blind them, the Sight-blocking Spell. This causes the target to only see blackness upon opening their eyes. It is notoriously difficult to remove for anybody, even the caster, and is thus a legally questionable spell, only just counting as legal so long as used in evidenced self-defence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess, the beginning of this chapter is tosh, but I was eager to get to the action scene - it's been in my head for ages now! And sorry to those of you who don't read/enjoy my magical theory rambles, because there's 500 words of that in this chapter!
> 
> Thanks for reading as always, love you guys - Ota. Xxx


	27. Unfortunately, The Grass Has Drowned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, so I'll try to add an extra update on Wednesday this week, kay? Xxx

 

The young man curled in on himself, entire body shaking violently, eyes and fists clenched shut, finally finding his voice, broken as it was,

"Fucking hell I'm sorry fuck it's my fault shit fuck no I'm sorry I-"

"Hush now Harry. Breathe, we're fine. Let's have our injuries - no, you were breathing fine a moment ago, thank you, keep with that rhythm - have our injuries treated then return to Grimmauld Place. Come along now, that's it." As Severus coaxed Harry into a standing position, and then over to a tree stump to sit down, he cast a diagnostic spell over the younger. The scroll that popped into being wasn't overly long, thank Merlin.

"Remus," he called over his shoulder, "Are you capable of tending to yourself?" Receiving an affirmative response, Severus dismissed all thoughts of the werewolf from his mind and focused on the brat instead. Hm. A deep laceration to the shoulder, two broken fingers, a fractured tibia, three long claw marks across his hip and lower back, a nasty little head wound and a sprained ankle. Nothing too terrible, but it definitely needed attending to.

"Keep breathing for me, yes? I need to start healing you."

"M- mhm," came Harry's shuddering hum, eyes clenched closed as Severus began casting. Not having to cast a shield for the first half of the battle had saved him quite a bit of magic, at least when compared to Harry's heavy depletion, so he could easily deal with healing the worst of the younger's injuries to an acceptable level. He'd definitely need bed rest, pain potions and some extra healing sessions, but this would more than suffice for now. Harry dealt with, Severus did the same for himself, then glanced around the clearing. 

 

The grass was a metallic brown, matted and drowned with mud and blood. Black-robed bodies lay next to a luckily small number unmoving werewolves. Two of whom were clearly children, another with hair even more ashen than her face. Amongst those healing others was Wren himself.

"Wren! Do you need us or can we return?" he called. The other stood straight from where he'd been talking to his second and loped over.

"We'll manage without you. Go home, but return in three days. Deal?"

"Of course. Can you cast a Patronus?"

"No. Holde can."

"Good enough. If there's anything urgent, get him to send one to me. Would you like me to send Aurors here?"

"Suppose you'd better. S'long as they aren't bigoted fuckers."

"Those we send won't be. Tend to your pack, we'll go. I'll send them within quarter of an hour."

"Alright." The werewolf turned back towards his pack, then hesitated, "Tell the boy thanks. He did a decent job."

"I will." The two separated, Severus instead beckoning over Remus back over. 

 

"We're going home, I've talked to Wren. Use your Portkey." As soon as the werewolf blinked away, Severus encircled Harry's shoulders tightly, tucking the younger firmly into his side, and spoke, "Where the heart is." 

 

He opened his eyes a moment later to see the kitchen. Dismissing his own nausea, he dragged Harry to the table and, more significantly, an empty chair. Remus was already head-first in the Floo. Hopefully the man was summoning Poppy here. All of them needed to be checked back over, administered potions and provided with more healing. After all, field healing was good enough to keep you alive, but it didn't mean that you wouldn't scar or ultimately heal incorrectly. Ushering Harry into the nearest chair, Severus was quick to send a spell at the kettle. Some hot chocolate and potions would do them the world good, then straight to bed. And indeed, just under an hour later, Poppy had been and gone, giving them each a list of potions and a demand for bed rest. Accordingly, Remus had trudged up three floors and they'd made their way to their, luckily, far closer bedroom. As Poppy was with Harry, the Potions Master had taken the chance to send the Order Aurors to deal with the aftermath. Fortunately, four of their five Aurors were on-shift and had all volunteered to go as part of the official seven deployed by the Ministry. Wren shouldn't need to worry about anybody blaming his pack or refusing to treat them or the like. And with that organised, Severus had been free to return to Harry so that the two could go to bed.

 

It took a four-hour nap for Harry to wake up again, far more present than he had been beforehand.  Seeing Severus was still asleep and unable to resist the lure of warmth, of knowing somebody was there, the younger slipped out of his own bed and curled up just under the elder's blanket, back to the rest of the room, settling his toes against flannel-clad calves and just hooking his fingertips in the elder’s top. It wasn’t quite the first time he’d done this, though he was hesitant all the same. But dammit- he needed something, anything. And Severus was by far the best thing he had. So here he was.

 

The two were lucky that nobody dared to check on them that night. If somebody, even Remus or Hermione, had found them sleeping in the same bed, regardless that they were fully clothed… well, it wouldn’t have been fun, to say the least. Still, they both began to rouse at the same time, Harry groaning at the persistent aches pooling through his body, shifting to lay on his back, keeping one hand tangled in the elder’s shirt, and his foot pressed up against the other’s leg. Severus didn’t even react, simply allowing the contact and instead focusing on brushing his wayward hair away from his face, annoyed to find no hairband on his wrist.

“Hey, brat, got a hair tie?”

“No. Here,” without thinking, Harry raised his spare hand and a Muggle elastic hair tie, for some reason in neon green, materialised in his hand. Grunting some kind of unintelligible thanks, Severus took it and, after a moment, brought his hair into a little bun at the crown of his head, as far back as he could reach without actually sitting up.

“We should probably go and get some food.”

“Indeed.” With that, they dragged themselves out of bed, still bleary-eyed, almost forgetting to cast Changing charms before they left for the kitchen. Coming into the room, everyone was obviously halfway through breakfast, platters close to empty, though Severus did notice two covered plates on the counter, doubtlessly theirs.

 

“You alright Remus?” Harry inquired, going to take his normal seat, luckily left open. Severus continued on to retrieve their portions.

“Yes, thanks. Just tired and achy now. Are you? You were quite… out of it.”

“Fine, fine. Tired. Thanks Severus,” turning to him, Harry suddenly snorted, tried to hold it in, then burst out laughing.

“Brat…” the elder warned, confused and, admittedly, a little worried. There was a hysterical edge to the cackling that he didn’t like.

“S-sorry, but-” he dissolved into giggles again, “-hair!” Cursing internally, the Potions Master was abruptly reminded of the vibrant hair tie keeping up a fucking messy bun, of all things. Reaching to take it out, refusing to flush in embarrassment at all the eyes now on him, he was stopped by a deceptively gentle hand on his arm. The brat was veritably pouting.

“It’ll only get in the way, right.” It was both a statement and a request, yet still not a question.

“Fine. Idiot brat,” and he finally took his own seat, nudging Harry’s plate closer to him. Merlin knew they were both starving, but whether or not the young man would actually have an appetite was another question altogether.

“Thanks.” And whilst on the surface, that seemed to be for the food, Severus heard the truth. He hadn’t intentionally made Harry laugh, but he was grateful all the same. Silly Gryffindor. Not bothering to reply, Severus simply began to eat. Harry quickly followed suit. At least nobody had- Ah. Too late.

 

“So what happened? Was there an attack? Did anybody die?”

“Ah, yes. Death Eaters attacked the pack just as we were finishing negotiations-”

“Had they already Sworn their Vow?” Hermione interjected, curiosity gleaming through her features.

“Yes, and so had we. Then we joined the battle. I believe some did die, many were injured, including us. We’re largely fine though.”

“We’re going to need to let everybody know about the stipulations-”

“Don’t worry Harry, our Aurors know, at the very least. And there’s an Order Meeting tonight. We can let everyone else know then. And Wren has yet to send us a Patronus asking for aid.”

“Good,” Harry breathed, meeting Severus’ eyes with gratitude and lingering worry. The elder simply nodded in recognition,

“I do believe you can all wait until the Meeting later to hear the rest of the details.” He noticed the Weasley girl about to speak up, but her mother was quick to shush her. Goootd.

 

Fortunately, both Harry and he finished their meals fairly quickly and were able to retreat to their room once more, very glad for the privacy it afforded. It would be stressful enough for the brat to tell everyone of the events tonight, let alone having to recount it multiple times to immature fools.

 

 

And indeed, despite a full day of napping and reading, Harry did seem incredibly uncomfortable upon entering the kitchen and finding it already half full, although the brat hid it easily and without a second thought. Still, he was quick to find a seat near the head of the table, with only McGonagall and Mad Eye further up than him, he took a seat, beckoning Severus to bracket him in. Even as they sat down, another two members Flooed in with a swirl of emerald ash. Soon enough, every chair was full and the Headmistress began,

"I believe you needed to speak, Severus, Harry?"

"Harry does, yes." Nodding to him, Harry shifted his attention from person to person before settling on the table and speaking,

"As some of you are aware, negotiations with the Wren pack last night went rather- awry. A group of around twenty Death Eaters attacked the pack whilst their alpha and four others were in a nearby clearing. Luckily, Vows on both sides had just been made before the howl went up and with that, we cannot seek to harm any member of the Wren pack for the duration of this war without losing all bar our Healing magic. It's obvious, but Wren was a little more particular about our return terms, hence the increased harshness. We managed what he would allow, ad a little more to be frank. Regardless, we Swore our Vows and then the Death Eaters attacked. When we reached the battle, I kept up a shield for the three of us and we began to take down His followers. We ended up separated, all three of us sustained some degree of injuries, but the Death Eaters were taken down, including Fenrir and Avery. At that point the Aurors should know more?" He added, inviting one of the aforementioned Ministry workers to speak up.

"Yes," Kingsley began, his deep voice cutting through any chatter that had sprung up in the lull, "Two squads of us were sent out to bring the Death Eaters into custody, catalogue any fatalities and ensure the safe arrival of the Mediwizards. There were two DE casualties and six from the werewolf pack. Another two of the pack are in serious condition, and four of the Death Eaters. The rest of the Dark wizards are in custody and set for trial within the month. So not a terrible outcome overall, if still unfortunate for the werewolves."

"Unfortunate?" Harry's voice was suspiciously light, particularly considering the undeniable glow of Avada Kedavra green in his eyes. Kingsley gaped, stuttered a few syllables, before clearly subsiding. Yet Harry only grew more vicious.

"Two children dying is  _unfortunate_ , sure. Discrimination against people, little kids and dads and sisters, because they're werewolves is  _unfortunate_. A fucking war over blood supremacy is _UNFORTUNATE!_ " 

 

Like the he was a puppet with its strings severed, Harry slumped back into his seat, eyes still menacing, but his expression vaguely apologetic. Not regretful, but apologetic all the same.

"Sorry Kingsley. Didn't mean to snap." And if those words weren't just as snide as they were sincere, Severus didn't hate teaching imbeciles. 

"Ah- it's alright." Nobody spoke for a few long moments, before Remus dared to clear his throat and speak up,

"So, beyond all that, is there anything else to report?" And on with the Meeting they went. Although, not without several wary and awed glances towards Harry, or so Severus couldn't help but notice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used this chapter (and the last) - or at least tried to use them - to show Harry as fallible and vulnerable, beyond his usual nightmares and panic attacks. Yes, my Harry is capable and yes, he applies the intelligence that I'm convinced every version of Harry possesses, but I don't want him to become a Mary Sue (isn't there a male version of that? Gary Stu or something?). Still, point being, I'm trying to tread the fine line between Harry being over-powered and Harry being powerful and I know that sometimes I tip it in the edge of him being OP. Hopefully, this chapter demonstrated how very fallible he still is.
> 
> Hope you're enjoying, and thank you all for reading - Ota. Xxx


	28. But It Will Spring Back Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mid-week update to cheer me up. And hopefully give you guys a smile too!

Settling in for the night, Harry and Severus were companionably silent, until something occurred to the elder.

"It's the sixteenth today. The school year starts back up on the first."

"Yeh. I'm glad I'm not going, really. Last year was the best one yet, but it was still a nightmare."

"Hm. Occlumency lessons with the greasy bat of the dungeons, the 'best' school year indeed."

"Oh hush. You were alright last year, outside of lessons at least. It's the only reason I dared train with you this summer. Well, that and the minor detail of you saving my life a few times. But, meh."

"You hush, brat. And you're not intending to go back this year?"

"No!" Harry snorted incredulously, looking conflicted as to whether he should laugh or check Severus' brain was still in his skull, "I'm just as embroiled in this war effort as anyone. More, to be honest, bar a few people, including you. How could I go back to school with everything like this?"

 

"Like what?" Okay, that was a fruitless question. Still, he wanted to understand Harry's thought process.

"War-y!" With an even dumber answer, "There's battles and politics and people dying, Severus! Look at the Wren pack! I can't walk away from this just for some education shit. That's not important. Not like the war is." And what Harry didn't say, but both of them knew all the same, was that Harry still wasn't expecting to survive Voldemort's defeat. Or if he did, to soon succumb to injuries or the like. And what good did an education do a dead person?

"Idiot brat," Severus chided, but didn't bother expanding on it. Merlin knew that trying to change Harry's mind was difficult at any time, let alone about this. And he could understand the brat's point. He'd already advised Minerva to look for another Potions professor, personally. Although he had still offered his capabilities for the Hospital Wing brewing. He didn't want to trust any of the children's health to another, even if they were annoying imbeciles for the most part. Magical children were still magical children.

 

“So what are you planning, if you’re not returning to Hogwarts?”

“To continue this, obvi…” The young man suddenly trailed off, eyes wide, pale face turned to Severus.

“Very well, I could accommodate that.” It wasn’t a reassurance, but it was close enough.

“You’re not going to have anything else to do!” The attempt at humour fell flat and the two descended into a silence more uncomfortable than it had truly been in a month.

 

Unable to truly stand the painful atmosphere, Severus considered then sat up against the wall, legs still covered by his blanket, and raised one arm to his side. Harry’s eyes darted along his figure, to the door and floor and back again before he left his own bed, dragging his covers with him and gestured for the elder to sit forward. Complying, he was rewarded with two blankets half-wrapped around his shoulders, lots of loose fabric to his left. Harry himself then discarded his glasses and slipped into the little huddle, under his arm, leaning against him, tucking the edges of the Potions Master’s blanket over his legs too and then his own blankets around their little huddle. Nodding in satisfaction, Severus thusly Summoned a book and, spreading it out across their laps, began to read aloud. Sleep wouldn’t come easy either way, they both knew, and if words were failing them, then physical comfort would be everything they needed, as it so often was.

 

Harry opened his eyes to blackness, soft and silken. And it took a moment, but then he registered it was fabric and, beyond that, a firm body that exuded warmth. Severus. Slowly cataloguing his own limbs, he clocked that Severus was flat on his back and he was curled in a foetal position, but a long arm was stretched out across the arc of his shoulder and back, fingertips caressing his hip; his face was pressed into the elder’s side, his knees against the sharpness of the other’s hipbone. It was heaven at its truest.

 

Gradually, Severus' breathing changed, becoming shallower and a little faster, yet Harry still couldn't bring himself to move away, regardless of the blush that was already working its way across his face and doubtlessly down the back of his neck and ears too.  
"Mornin'," the elder rasped, voice deliciously thick and rough with sleep. Even more delightfully, his arm tightened along the length of Harry's spine, fingers stroking a gentle, deliberate back and forth, just tracing the arch of Harry's hip, delving against the edge of the dips where the bone gave way to hollow, still sunken stomach.  
"Morning," Harry breathed, hardly daring to utter that much, just in case it somehow caused Severus to realise their position, as though he wasn't already aware, and to suddenly leap up and leave. Never mind that they'd settled in far worse, far more compromising, positions before, both in sleep and, once or twice, not.  
"I assume the alarm has yet to go off?"  
"I think so."  
"Then...?"  
"Happily." And so neither of them moved.

 

The comfort of their position didn't stop Harry's thoughts from spiralling though. Minute after minute, another self-recrimination would trickle in. 

Fenrir and a band of Death Eaters… It couldn’t be a coincidence that they’d targeted the Wren pack, not when they were there as well. Had their route been too obvious? But they’d wanted Voldemort to pick up on their actions, hadn’t they? Well, deliberately planning to mislead Him was as good as. And that had been Harry’s plan. So it was Harry that had as good as slaughtered those people. It was his fault that the pack had been attacked. That Severus had been hurt. And Remus too for that matter. And maybe they’d gotten the Vows first. And maybe it meant there were more Death Eaters out of the picture. But still! People had died. And they’d died because of Ha-

“Brat. Stop trying to think. You’ll do yourself an injury.” That beautiful voice was still rough from sleep and Harry sputtered indignantly under his breath in reply, incoherent. The immediate thought of ‘I already have’ didn’t dare cross his lips. Severus didn’t need all of Harry’s negativity heaped upon his shoulders. Bad enough tha-

“Brat,” there was a warning there. One that he tried to listen to, instead burying his head further into the elder’s side, allowing the warmth to swamp and silence his mind. It wouldn’t last forever, probably another ten minutes in fact, but he would cherish it regardless.

 

Finally, twelve minutes later, their alarm did indeed go off and they lay there through it, eyes open but staring at nothing in particular. If they were ten minutes later than usual to breakfast, nobody was there to notice yet, and a slightly rushed meal was soon on the table. No questions asked.

 

“Oh yes!” Molly exclaimed, half-way through breakfast, “Children, Minerva gave me your Hogwarts letters last night. Just let me…” She stood, completely forgetting her remaining food, and bustled over to the counter. Rooting around a little in a miscellaneous drawer, she produced four thick parchment envelopes.

“Don’t know how they- anyway! Here you go dearies!” She was quick to hand them around. All of them tore them open, even Ron, and scanned over the missives. Harry excluded. Rather, he set his aside, where it shouldn’t get any food on it, and continued to pick at his mushrooms on toast.

“You should at least read it, brat.”

“No, I should inform McGonagall that it wasn’t necessary.”

“Harry-“

“What does that mean?” demanded two voices. Seeing similar expressions of matronly concern on Molly and Hermione’s faces, Harry sat up straight, all steel and soft flames.

 

“I’m not returning to Hogwarts.”

 

A chorus of dissent and confusion rang around the table. Harry didn’t flinch.

“It’ll do me no good. I’ll go mad, in classes and being in the dorms and not training.” Despite him visibly shuddering a little, a vaguely uncomfortable expression marring his otherwise blank features, the others still continued to question him. One voice was far louder than the rest,

“WHAT? But, mate, all you do _here_ is learn! And you share with that greas-“

“Yes, but _I’m learning for the war_. It’s completely different. So is rooming with Severus. “

“Yeh, it’s different! It’s worse! It HAS to be!”

“It’s not, Ron. I’ve never been completely comfortable sharing a room with so many people at once. It’s too much. And learning how to make pineapples dance _isn’t_ going to defeat Vol- Him. Which, might I remind you all, is _my fucking job_! That’s more important than any year at school!”

“Harry James Potter-” Hermione went to interject, but was quickly steam-rolled over,

“No. Mione, I’m not expecting to survive this. What will it matter-“

“Brat. Shut the fuck up.” Everyone also quietened at the man swearing. Not to mention sounding bloody furious.

 

“But Seve-!”

“We’ve had this conversation.”

“Yes. So? It’s stil-“

“NO IT ISN’T! I will ensure it isn’t.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Harry-“ suddenly seeming to recognise the others all hanging on his every word, the man paused, “You remember what I said last time,” he leaned in, painfully close, his breaths like explosions against his burning ears, hair feather-soft against his pale cheeks, not quite tangling in the rims of his glasses, “What I did last time.” Abruptly, he stood up fully, towering over the younger, “ ‘I meant every word’.” Only the two of them understood his final reference, but all of them could see how Harry shuddered in place, melancholy eyes dropping closed, mouth slightly parted yet barely breathing.

 

“I… sorry, everyone. I’m a little het up today. Of course we’ll all survive and win this war. Every one of us. And I can retake my Seventh year then.” And if there was still a waver of uncertainty to the words, they were all kind enough to mention it.

 

Retaking their seats, for most of them had stood up at some point during the argument, the meal was finished in a largely awkward silence that not even the twins could bring themselves to break.

 

“Harry, Severus, may we speak this afternoon?”

“Sure,” came Harry’s terse reply, softened only by the strained smile he also offered, “After lunch?”

“Of course,” Remus replied, smiled, and departed. Severus and Harry were quick to leave too, settling in their corner of the library. Bedrest didn’t have to actually be in bed, right? They were both in denial, sue them.

 

For several hours, the two simply researched spells and rituals, potions and hexes. Harry had discovered a stash of Necromancy books somewhere and was scanning through them, looking for mentions of Horcruxes or the like. At several points he would pull disgusted faces, whining under his breath of going so far as to put the book down, face down mind, and pace the room a little, movements jerky. Merlin knew Necromancy wasn’t exactly light reading, particularly when one was already attempting to recover from a major battle only two days prior. Still, Severus left him to it. If this was how Harry chose to deal with said attack, then at least it wasn’t too self-destructive. And was genuinely productive. After all, they had been planning to go Horcrux hunting once the werewolves were dealt with. And to do so, extra information certainly wouldn’t be remiss. Even if it left the brat pale and shaken in equal measure. At least his eyes were still alight with determination, despite the darkening tint of nausea and pervading exhaustion. Severus was observing him, he would be fine. If it looked to be truly too much, he would intervene. Until then, he would keep on spelling fresh coffee into their mugs and allowing his socked feet to rest against the younger’s. They needed both the energy and the comfort.

 

Eventually of course, their tranquility was interrupted by the cry for lunch. Grumbling under his breath, Severus levered himself up, pried the book from Harry’s hands, and ushered them both downstairs to the kitchen. They needed more than coffee after all, as delicious as it was.

 

Munching stolidly through sandwiches and a packet of Muggle crisps, Harry didn't speak a word unprompted. And hardly any prompted either. For now, Severus would leave him to it. They were meant to be talking to Remus within the hour anyway. That should loosen the brat's tongue.

 


	29. Indubitable; Incurable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primarily, conversations happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I’m posting this twenty minutes before leaving for a big event - wish me luck!
> 
> Oh and please make sure you didn’t miss the MIDWEEK POST from Wednesday - don’t want to confuse you all!
> 
> Thanks as always guys, hope you enjoy! Love, Ota. Xxxx

 

“Come to the library? Or does it need to be more private than that?”

“More private really. Though it shouldn’t take overly long.”

“Our room then. Severus?”

“Very well.” And he led the way, holding their door open for the other two and closing it firmly behind them, thus engaging the privacy charms they’d carved into the wood.

 

 

Gesturing Remus into the only armchair, situated near the foot of Severus’ bed, Harry perched on the closest corner of his own, Severus settling comfortably on his own. Better to keep an appropriate distance between them this case.

“Harry…” Remus seemed to struggle for words, three long seconds drawing out, before he cleared his throat and began again, “I’ve enjoyed working with you Harry. And you too Severus, even if it did go to pot. You’re a good man, Harry, beyond being the Saviour I mean. And maybe it’s a good thing that you’re not entirely Gryffindor through and through. It certainly helped to be a little more Slytherin when it came to negotiations.” Yet again, silence fell, this time even more stagnant, sharp with unsaid words and acrid with a combination of guilt and lingering fear. Harry, surprisingly, was the first to speak up,

“Thank you Remus, that means a lot,” curious how a werewolf’s senses couldn’t pick up the lie that Severus’ could, “Don’t worry about the rest of the packs. Severus and I will approach them a little more randomly, I think. After one fairly successful attack, at least in terms of scaring us, in terms of showing off his own power and intelligence, He should be fairly complacent. He’ll know that I’m spear-heading this endeavour and will think that I’ve been scared off – my first venture failing, resulting in over a dozen deaths. Yes, He’ll most likely back off for a few weeks at least. We can be more discrete this time, and we’ll probably have to skip the last two, more Dark-aligned packs, but between the two of us we should be able to secure another Vow or two safely. So rest up, yeh? Look after yourself instead.”

“If you say so,” Remus began hesitantly, only to receive a confident nod from Harry and a gesture of acquiescence from Severus.

 

“Was there anything else?” The dismissal wasn’t harsh, but Remus clearly got the hint.

“Ah, no. I’ll be going then. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“See you.”   “Indeed.”

As soon as the door closed behind the werewolf , Severus was up and wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders, drawing the younger forward to lean against his chest. The younger’s breaths were juddering, jarring, but he wasn’t crying, nor was he falling into a panic attack. Worse things had happened than this.

 

A few minutes later, Severus stood back. Neither mentioned how Harry leaned forwards, following him, for a few moments before shaking out of it, rubbing a hand through his hair, and stood up himself. He had Necromancy books to read after all.

 

“Is that our plan then?”

“Hm?” Harry looked up at Severus, vague confusion twisting his mouth prettily.

“For you and I to approach the last two packs, not including the more Dark-aligned, at a different time to the original plan and negotiate a Vow as per usual.”

“Yeh… I don’t know really. It seems like the most sensible option. Taking Remus is fine, but it’s just one more person to get hurt. Taking more people is even less feasible. And I can’t imagine simply following through with the original schedule now; it was obviously even more predictable than we thought, and He is obviously more brazen, if He decided it was worth mounting an attack.”

“Rather. Very well. Perhaps give it a few more days though, yes?”

“Sure. He’ll be more likely to think we’ve given up then.”

 

“Any other changes?”

“I was thinking of bringing my Invisibility Cloak. Might give us a better chance of dodging or stopping an attack.”

“You have an Invisibility Cloak?” And despite the casual tone, Harry didn’t miss the underlying incredulity and aggravation.

“Yes. It- it was my Dad’s.”

 

“That thing?! And Albus let you have it in the school, I’m sure. No wonder I couldn’t always find you! Blasted brat.” Severus oscillated from furious, to bitter, to annoyed to resigned all in two breaths, the sudden swings threatening to give Harry whiplash.

“Um… Yeh.” The anger of only moments ago had shaken him. It wasn’t the same as the elder's protective ire, but rather a genuine fury that, only a year or so previous, would have sent Harry either to detention, into an internal panic, or both. Perhaps even only two months previous. How things had changed.

“I apologise, brat. I wasn’t particularly angry with you.”

“I know.” The short reply was enough apparently, as Severus inclined his head and deliberately forced himself to relax in his seat and soften his features a little. At least Harry hadn’t run off this time.

 

“Pause a moment,” the elder suddenly spoke up, gaze intent but not harsh, smouldering as embers, fixated on the other wizard, “Your Invisibility Cloak hasn’t degraded, despite being decades old?”

“Hm. Why- Oh shit!”

“Indeed.”

“It was mentioned in one of these Necromancy grimoires as well. Which one was…” He trailed off, hurrying to pull several crumbling tomes out of the pile on their table.

“Necromancy?”

“Yes, what were you thinking of?” The words were distracted, much as the younger himself in fact, only half-listening, leafing through pages at a ridiculous rate. He hardly seemed to note the elder's shock,

“Of the Deathly Hallows from the-“

“That was it!”

“-children’s tales.” Harry stopped turning pages, turning his full attention to Severus. The Potions Master noted his obvious bewilderment.

“But I distinctly remember mentions of the Master Of Death, and it was a Dark, Dark book. Not bloody fairytales!”

“Likely another case of true events being told and twisted until they’re barely recognisable fables. Keep looking. I’ll find you the children’s book.”

 

Within five minutes, the two were reading, or in Severus’ case re-reading, the story of the Peverell brothers.

“Okay. So that lines up with what I remember reading. It was definitely a wand, a ring and a cloak. Presumably, my cloak. Merlin, why didn’t I notice this sooner?”

“Don’t start that Harry. We’ve realised now. Be grateful for that much.” He only received a noncommittal hum in reply. It would have to do.

 

“So. In one of these?”

“Yeh,” Harry began as they both took another from his stack and began flicking through, “It was something to do with the Master Of Death… maybe _Modi Immortalia_ … or it could be _Tutum Iter Tenebricosum_. Look in this one instead,” he added, handing the latter to Severus.

“Immortality tomes?”

“What else would you expect from Him?”

“Very true,” the elder conceded, as they both returned their attentions to the dense prints of the ancient books.

 

“Here! Sev, read this.”  Neither noted the nickname, too caught up in their research.

“Right… So, whomever possesses all three Trinkets of Death – ‘trinkets’, honestly – is hailed the Master Of Death and can control Them?”

“Supposedly. And thus becoming immortal, being able to summon spirits and gaining powers ‘beyond Life’s comprehension’. Sounds like-“

“Bullshit. Rather. But perhaps there is something true to it. Your Cloak appears to be legitimate at least.”

“I guess so. Not sure we want to become the Masters Of Death though. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make sure that Vold- He doesn’t get his scales on them though.”

“Point. Well, we have one already. As for the Elder wand… Hm,” he flipped a page, “There is a description for it here: _Of wood white as foam and bleach'd liketh sun-leech'd bark, six knots, did carve by death and f'rg'd in the blood of its mast'rs ._ Wonderful,” he sneered, looking unconvinced.

 

“Okay… Anything on the Stone?”

“No description at least. Seems like Louth and de Alne knew far more about the Wand, or cared more about it. Regardless, two is better than one, provided we can find the Wand.”

“Yeh… Something’s bothering me though. It sounds familiar.”

“You have read this before, no?”

“True. Meh."

“Articulate.”

“Hush, you git.”

“Brat.”

“Bat.”

“That’s practically the same word, you idiot brat,” Severus countered, purring the ‘r’ in emphasis. Neither acknowledged the visible shiver it sent down Harry’s spine, eyes wide and dark for a few moments.

“Bastard,” he muttered, a flush rising over his cheeks like the sakura of his tattoo,  falling in a reverse flurry.

 

“So… ignoring how familiar that sounds, the Deathly Hallows are a thing. Should we be doing something to protect my- the Cloak?” They sat in silent thought for a few minutes before Severus reached up and began to tie his hair back, simultaneously speaking,

“As inclined as I am to immediately say yes, having the Cloak at our disposal may be invaluable. Not to mention that nobody else should be aware of the truth of the matter, no? Who even knows you possess an Invisibility Cloak in the first place?”

“Ron, Hermione, Remus, the twins. I suppose Luna, Neville and Ginny probably know. Hagrid… Malfoy – junior, that is – definitely knows, and probably Crabbe and Goyle too. Anybody he whined to. Anybody that Dumbledore told. But only about five people know that I inherited it, not that it was just something I happened to buy.”

“Alright. More people than I’m entirely comfortable with, but not as bad as I’d thought.” Harry hummed noncommittally in reply, clearly thinking,

“Can the Fidelius be cast on an object? And if it was, would the Cloak actually work still, no interference?”

“An intriguing idea,” the elder paused, eyebrows furrowed and leaning forwards in his seat just that little bit, the way he so often did when internally debating with himself, “One that may well work. We shall have to research it, I believe. Perhaps tomorrow though.”

“Isn’t something happening tomorrow?”

“Ah, yes, we were going to visit on the Wren pack, ensure they were sufficiently recovered.” Harry didn’t reply, the shadows in his eyes creeping further forward, clouds over toxin-tinged sunlight.

"Brat." The single word dragged him from his reverie, clouds clearing to reveal luminescent Paris green, currently sans the poisonous touch the shade was famed for, instead soft as a worn woollen blanket.

"Git." 

"Indubitably."

"Incurably?"

"Why, that too." And finally, finally, Harry laughed, an almost-giggle that bordered on exhausted but still worked to light up that pale skin like moonlight and set that beautiful mouth curving like a snake striking, capable of slashing venom but instead gentle, amused.

 

“Thank you, Severus.” Not acknowledging the words, Severus returned his attention to _Modi Immortalia._ After all, it would take more than Horcruxes and Duelling to defeat Voldemort. Foreknowledge and preventative measures were essential to all endeavours; wars even more so.

 

 

It was far later that evening when the two were once again safely ensconced in their room, Harry having slipped beneath Severus’ covers by tacit invitation, craving whatever comfort was being offered, from both sides of the bed; their proximity had them drowning in mercury, a beautiful bane oh-so-sweet. Pervasive and corroding and precious. As all-encompassing as such things, when true, always are. Neither would breathe a word of it, would broach a subject as sensitive and delicate as a Muggle landmine, but just like the resultant explosions, nor could the prerequisite silence be ignored. They were both sine qua non to each other after all, indubitably and incurably so.

 

 

\--------------------------------------

 

 

 _ **Modi Immortalia**_ – Methods for Immortality – 1615- Matthew Louth & Agnes de Alne (née Louth)

Written by siblings who were embroiled in the Dark Arts from an age, largely due to their Ritualist father, who was fond of conducting experiments, fortunately with permission, on terminally ill witches and wizards in an attempt to manipulate Time, the Magicks or Death. Or of course, some combination of the three. He was, up to a point, reasonably successful, and his research was continued and published by his two children.

 

 _ **Tutum Iter Tenebricosum**_ – Dark Paths to Safety – 1792 – Adolphus Haasler

The four times great-grandfather of the Muggle aryan supremacist Hitler; his only daughter was a squib, likely due to the stunting of his own magic through extensive and reckless use of the more pervasive and damaging Dark Arts, with little balance from rest or usage of Lights or Shade Magicks. The bitterness of his daughter, or rather the entire branch of his family, and his ever-loosening grip on reality tainted their bloodline in many ways. The choices of the by-then Muggle Adolf Hitler only further degraded the line. 

 

 

 _Trêowen îsig samðe in phrase samðsamð fâmgian ðêah−hwæðere wederbl_ **ác** _lîcian sol forsuncen rinde, siex lufesn, graeft fullan forðfôr sôðlic_ **besmiðaþ** _m¯æst heolfor orgilde sîn hêahleornere._

Without looking it up in a translator, can anybody guess what language this is and/or what it means? You'll get... uhm, a shout-out? A virtual hug? A side-story? I don't know. (although, on that note, if there is anyhting anybody wants clearing up, or has a prompt for a side-story for me, then please feel free to comment it! I'd love to hear them!)

 


	30. Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Severus tie up some loose ends; Harry makes a debatable decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going on from the end of the last chapter: 'Trêowen îsig samðe in phrase samðsamð fâmgian ðêah−hwæðere wederblác lîcian sol forsuncen rinde, siex lufesn, graeft fullan forðfôr sôðlic besmiðaþ m¯æst heolfor orgilde sîn hêahleornere' is the Old English translation of 'of wood white as foam and bleached like sun-leeched bark, six knots carved by death and forged in the blood of its masters'. Good guesses Abberdeen and audria! Have virtual hugs and cookies anyway!

 

Not long after lunch, Harry and Severus set out for the Wren Pack, materialising in the clearing that they’d had their negotiations in. Holde, then enforcer, met them there.

“Greetings.”

“And to you. I trust recovery has been made, as you have not contacted us?” The overly formal opening was indicative of just how uncertain the brat was.

“’t has. We lost six: two older, two kids, two others. But otherwise we’re mostly alright, s’pose. Danny and Mel are fixed up and back home.” A mile of tension left the younger's shoulders. Severus felt some leave his own at the sight. 

“Thank Merlin; I’m glad.” The genuine care and relief in Harry’s tone attracted an evaluative stare from the werewolf, before the man nodded, seemingly to himself, and lengthened his stride a little. Within the minute, the three had entered the larger clearing, the humans immediately needing to dispel images of death and blood and bone, to put aside the echoes of screams and cries. And they managed to do so without slowing their steps.

 

“Alpha!” The familiar head of dark head was already turned towards them, yellow-green eyes piercing but not hostile.

“Potter. Snape.”

“Wren.” For a moment they stood in stony silence, the very air frigid. Then the werewolf surged forwards to clasp Harry’s wrist in a firm shake. Nobody missed how Severus’ wand was instantaneously in his hand, then tucked back away again, whilst the younger simply returned the wizard’s greeting of respect with a grim, tight little smile.

“You have my gratitude and respect, Alpha Potter. My pack and I thank you for standing beside us.”

“You are most welcome, Alpha Wren,” Harry returned the honorific, “I can only regret that it was necessary.”

“Bollocks.” They shared a feral grin, all teeth and wild promises.

 

For the next hour, Harry and Severus met the majority of the Wren pack, accepting thank yous and recognitions, offering help and condolences in reply. Yet upon returning to Grimmauld Place, there was a noticeable drop in Harry’s mood. Unsurprising really. He always did tend to keep up an idealistic front, particularly in a more public setting.

 

“Come on brat,” the elder nudged, matching the words with a sneaky poke to the ribs, “Let’s go to the library, if it is vacant; see if we can’t find any useful spells for the Order or the Hunt.”

“Sure.” Hm, very subdued. He should have to keep his eye on the brat, if he could do so even more than he currently was.

“Well then?” At his further prompting, the young man headed up the stairs. Approaching the wide open door to the library, laughter and chatter echoed along the hallway. Harry hesitated, then threw a pleading look at Severus over his shoulder. Oh, very well.

“Perhaps our room instead?” He offered.

“Thanks,” the younger sighed, some of the tension leaving his figure. Severus merely grunted.

 

 

"Hey, Severus." Those green eyes had focused on him, blazing yet wavering, intense regardless.

"Hn."

"I know you said to leave it, but what about inducting some of my Year mates to act as spies? Or any others you would trust. I know that some of them would be willing and we could protect their-"

"Harry. Brat, stop. I... I know it is well-intentioned, but we cannot."

"But why-"

"No. Categorically, no."

"...Okay. Sorry." Severus didn't say anything. Harry resisted the urge to flinch, instead leaning further into the warm arm draped across his shoulders. A potion-stained thumb swept across his arm in comfort and apology. For once, it wasn't enough.

 

 

Deep into that night, Harry lay awake and painfully alone in his own bed, listening to the rhythmic sounds of Severus' breathing and trying to talk himself out of what he knew was a bad idea. A really, truly bad idea. The kind of reckless Gryffindor idiocy that would have lost him two hundred points and won him three months detention with Filch. Yet here he was, seriously contemplating letting down his Occlumentic shields.

 

Merlin, this could go so wrong. But it could go so right. And that was the problem.

 

Without his Occlumency in place, Harry would be able to access Voldemort's mind, up to a point. The information he could glean from that: attack plans; the identities of new initiates and most trusted Inner Circle members; where he was hiding himself and his Horcruxes; what he intended to attack or obtain next; how he intended to do so; what he thought the Order was doing; if he knew any of their members and had a chance to target them. So much intelligence that could - would - help them exponentially. They didn't have any spies at the moment. Severus had been discovered and whilst Harry certainly didn't blame the other man for that, it was still a major detriment to their information regarding the enemy. Plus, with little chance of them gaining new spies from those already in or about to join Voldemort's ranks, their actual options were incredibly and dangerously limited. Beyond Harry himself that was. And Merlin knew that Harry would take almost any risks if it meant the slightest chance at tipping the balance of this war in their favour. It didn't matter if the visions hurt him, if it meant they could protect others, right?

 

Right. And with that, Harry had made his decision. Now he'd just have to keep it hidden from Severus. The man would kill him. Assuming Voldemort didn't manage it first of course.

 

Down came his shields.

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Harry woke up only four hours later, chased by images of  _fire swirling above tiled roofs, screams rending the close air, pleas and cries echoing in the gaps between the crackle of burning buildings and hope; Dark magic lacing the air with the acrid taste of blood and metal and victory_. The young man shot up, sweat-soaked and holding in his own cries, stumbling out of bed, trying to stay silent so as to leave Severus asleep, hurrying to the bathroom across the hall, headed for the mirror even as he magically locked the door. Hissing in pain, Harry set to healing himself, Conjuring more mirrors that bobbed around him to let him see the nasty burns that bloomed across his back in raw shades of red and pink, bubbling up grotesquely, although oddly tight and puckered across any previous scars, of which there were many. This was going to take some time. Biting back another cry of pain, he brandished his wand awkwardly over his shoulder. Yes, quite some time.

 

Indeed, after healing himself for far longer than he had intended or wanted, Harry was finally stepping under the cool spray of the shower. He'd originally set it to scalding as per usual, then been unable to even stand in the steam - _thick choking smoke, so deliciously dead and stale, coiling like a snake about to strike_ , _roughing throats and choking children_ \- so had quickly turned the knob back to a temperature of something lukewarm at best. Regardless, he basked in the constant, grounding pressure of the water pouring down onto his healed body, normally wavy black locks plastered across his forehead, neck and ears, tips tangling with his eyelashes irritatingly, but he couldn't bring himself to truly care. He had just witnessed dozens of people dying - innocent children and men and women - at his own hand. Oh, it was Voldemort casting the spells and revelling in the fear and pain and death, but it was Harry too. And that scared him. Always had and always would. The more time he spent in Voldemort's head, the more time he spent Duelling directly against Death Eaters, the more he could feel himself slipping from freak to monster. Abomination. He wasn't sure which was worse- No. Actually, he knew exactly what was worse. And it was what he believed himself to be becoming. Oh, today he might throw up at what he had witnessed, might shake and hesitate and hurt deep inside his chest, but what about next time? The time after that? Sooner or later Voldemort's sadism was going to bleed through into Harry - through the Horcrux, through the mind link - and leave him utterly desensitised, completely callous and cruel. It was inevitable and Harry knew it. But if he didn't allow their minds to touch, didn't keep his Occlumentic shields disabled, then how was he supposed to help anybody? How could he protect people, defeat Voldemort, if he didn't know what he was doing?

 

The simple answer that came to mind was that he couldn't. So he had no choice. If they didn't have any spies, then Harry would have to be one. And so he would. Whatever it took, for however long as was necessary.

 

 

Severus entered the kitchen at their usual time to find Harry already half way through cooking pancakes, of which a large stack was already sat under a stasis charm, small curls of steam misting up the transparent bubble of magic.

"Good morning brat."

"Oh!" The younger spun on the spot, pan catching on the edge of the hob and nearly sending the half-cooked pancake flying.

"Morning Severus," he was quick to go on, turning back around and focusing his attention on the food once more. Severus surveyed his tense form as it slowly relaxed again. Although, not completely... Hm. Something wasn't sitting right. But, if he couldn't discern it from staring at the brat's back, then he would have to leave it for now; he could question him later after all. Instead, he walked over to the cold cupboard and began pulling out the few punnets of fruit - strawberries, blueberries, raspberries. Shame they didn't have any gooseberries really; both he and Harry adored those. Still, he began to halve the fruits and dish them into bowls. And, well, if he snuck a few bites in between handfuls then who was to scold him? Particularly when he passed a few raspberries over to Harry too, who took them with a cheeky grin that was quickly red-stained with tart juices. And when those green eyes, so often dark with ghosts and doubts and melancholy, flared with simple enjoyment, Severus had to push down the urge to smile at the younger, that crippled beating thing in his chest going ten to the dozen, swelling and squeezing in a way he had never felt before. But that wasn't something to ponder on, oh no. It was to be revelled in, then ignored in favour of his own plans and worries. Such as what Harry was hiding from him, because that apprehension that had turned the brat's spine to flexing steel had only worsened since the previous evening. And such a fact was unforgiveable. Harry was not to suffer unnecessarily under his watch. And if that meant wheedling the truth out of the wizard then that was exactly what Severus would do, by Merlin and Morgana.

 

Unknowing of his companion's convictions, Harry simply kept on cooking, glad for his own foresight in cooking pancakes over any variation of a full English. He honestly didn't think he could stomach the scent of sausages or bacon right now. Well, not without having to make a highly undignified run for the bathroom that would have Severus even more concerned than he already was. And he could really do with minimising the man's suspicions, as much as the fact that Severus  _noticed_ in the first place, and then on top of that also  _cared_ enough to act meant an incredible  amount to Harry. Ron and Hermione, as much as they cared about him, just didn't have the ability to read him like Severus did. Nor did they have the experiences to truly relate to him. They might have been through several of his adventures with him, but there was something so intrinsically different to facing Voldemort and knowing that he had the full intention of killing you, in comparison to normal but still horrific mortal danger. And Harry was honestly glad that his friends couldn't comprehend everything; they were lucky to not be able to, and Harry wanted it to stay that way. He didn't want them to ever be in danger.

 

It was only a shame that Harry couldn't comprehend that nobody else wanted to see him in danger either. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a bit all over the place, but I had lots of minor plot points to deal with and the next little arc to introduce, hence how jumbled this is. And if you didn't quite get it, then just know that Harry took down his Occlumentic shields in order to try and access Voldie's mind. Still, hope you guys enjoy it anyway!  
> Oh, and a second apology for it being about 500 words too short, but I'll probably throw in a midweek update to make up for it? Thanks as always guys, love you - Ota, xxx


	31. But It Is A False Hope - And He Knows It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sev tries to deal with the fall-out of Harry's stupid decision.

 

Over the next three days, Harry and Severus successfully approached the Teller and Cole packs, gaining the final carefully worded Vows of neutrality from both groups. Luckily, neither Voldemort nor his forces attacked either time, as per Harry's predictions, which was a massive relief for everyone involved. Yet, despite having confirmed that the Wren pack were alright and having managed a positive outcome with the other two packs, Severus was watching Harry become worse and worse by the day.

 

Deep black bags marred his parchment-white face, stark as though he'd been punched. Somehow none of the brat's indubitable nightmares were waking Severus up, which by itself was disturbing because he was a light sleeper. Very light. Not only that, but the two were so attuned to each other that it had long-since become second nature to wake up when the other was particularly distressed. The fact that Severus wasn't... Well, it bewildered him. And the Potions Master hated not knowing something. Furthermore, the idiot brat wasn't  _talking to him_. Oh, they debated tactics and lamented being stuck in Grimmauld Place and asked if the other would pass the salt, but Harry didn't truly  _talk_ to him and it was- Honestly, it was hurtful. Somewhere along the line, the two had transformed into something of a single unit, with an easy familiarity that, whilst it occasionally dissolved into arguments, was rather co-dependent and essential to their daily routine. So having Harry constantly so vacant, not quite dissociative, but similar to it, was disconcerting in the least.

Beyond the vacancy, Harry was also jumpy. Both of them were somewhat paranoid, understandably so, but Harry would flinch from odd things that he hadn't before. Hot water, steam or smoke, flames. If somebody's laughter echoed along a hallway, the brat would freeze for a long moment, before visibly shaking himself and continuing on. The one time the twins had taken out a window with a splintering crack and tinkling of glass, Harry had backed up a pace, wand instantly raised, eyes wide and hand shaking imperceptibly. The latter could perhaps be attributed to the Dursleys, as Severus hadn't observed Harry's reaction to breaking glass previously, but it was a concerning instinctual response all the same. 

Thirdly, lastly,  Harry hadn't met Severus' gaze for more than a fleeting second in the entire four days. This, as far as Severus could tell, was completely random and pointless. Except for how it made the younger appear even more shifty than his general actions were. Harry's almost-fugue state was disturbing enough but not being able to meet his eyes, to not truly have a chance at judging how the brat was feeling frustrated Severus to no end. Those green eyes were the most expressive part of the man and not being able to communicate with them left a chasm yawning wide through the elder's chest, like a giant cat opening its maw with fetid breath, ready to swallow something - something good, pure, necessary, unknown - whole. And that pervading sensation set him on edge. 

 

Truly, it was curious how the absence of a few small, simple things could completely off-set their dynamic.

 

And as though it wasn't bad enough that Severus was having to deal with a struggling Harry, but it hadn't escaped anybody's notice that something was seriously wrong with the young man. The twitchiness, lack of appetite, clumsiness, obvious lack of sleep, obsessively training, even more so than normal; there were so many things that were piling up on each other within only a few days. It was alarming. The constant worry and over-thinking was rapidly pushing Severus over the edge of reason and well into furious frustration.

 

"Why are you not talking to me?" he had demanded, despairing, at the end of his tether and fighting to hold the threads together. He hadn't managed to meet Harry's gaze all day, and the one time he'd reached out a hand the younger had flinched so badly that he hadn't dared to try again.

"But I am talking to you." The quiet words were all  _wrong_. There was no sarcasm or indignation. Where was the 'I am right now, or did you not notice?' or the exasperated eye roll? Where was _Harry_ _?_  

"No, brat, you're not! You say words, but there's nothing behind them!  _Where are you?"_ At the audible confusion and hurt, because never let it be said that Severus' dignity was ultimately more important than the idiot in front of him, Harry barely blinked.

"In the library?" came the bewildered reply, Harry squinting a little at the elder but still not reacting how he should be. Dammit!

"No Harry, you're not! Your head's off in bloody la-la land and it's not right!"

"I'm still here Severus. We're all still here." And with that vague, cryptic remark, the younger returned his attention to the tome in his lap. Severus resisted the urge to gape. There was something ever so wrong with Harry. And fuck it all he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

 

Harry himself was peripherally aware that he wasn't reacting correctly. But there was too much cotton and cloud in his head, damp and misty and cloying, to bother thinking past it. His entire body ached viscerally, despite healing himself after all three of the visions he'd had so far, and he couldn't bring himself to truly care. Why did it matter? Everyone was safer now that he knew what Voldemort was doing. It didn't matter that he wasn't - couldn't - relay information before hand. It was enough to be aware that Voldemort wasn't planning to directly confront or draw them out yet. They were safe. And that was everything. 

 

 

That evening, when a familiar flash of painful anger blasted its way through his mind, Harry tried not to flinch. He tried; he really, truly tried hard not to because this couldn’t happen in the middle of dinner, it couldn't, not when everyone-

_'Tell me, my servants, why have I called you here today?' They received no reply but it did not matter. They hadn't expected one after all._

_'It is, you shall find, to inform you that one of your number has failed in their duties. MacNair, step forward and bow before your Lord.' A trembling figure, clad in a ubiquitous black robe came forward, prostrating himself but silent. Ah, he knew he was in true trouble. Delightful. Almost as much so as his screams would be._

_" **Crucio**!" And their maniacal laugh echoed and poured against the walls of the grand chamber, dissonantly resonating with his minion's screams. How beautiful-_

“-rry! HARRY!”

“Huh, yeh?” _They_ \- he snapped to attention. Focusing his eyes on the man in front of him, Harry desperately pushed down tremors and pain, willing the Potions Master to please, Merlin, somehow just not notice.

“What just happened?” Severus’ tone was low and deadly, cutting through the room. It had already fallen silent, every pair of eyes turned to Harry.

“Nothing, I spaced out. Why?”

“You _spaced out?”_   Fucking hell, the elder sounded ready to strangle him on the spot.

“Yes…” he trailed off deliberately, forcing himself to raise a challenging eyebrow. Severus only sneered.

“So would you care to explain, idiot brat, why you were whimpering in pain, why your hands – correction, your entire body is trembling and why, for all of Merlin’s bloody conquests, your Occlumency shields _are barely in place_?” Okay, Severus was furious, beyond it, and Harry was fucked.

“I-”

“You _what_ , Harry? Because as far as I can tell, you’re intentionally allowing Voldemort access to your mind.”

“I- I mean, yes, I, maybe, but He’s not-“

 

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE HARRY! You’re determined to put yourself into danger, aren’t you? Determined to get yourself killed before you turn eighteen! This is not the way to protect yourself. If that doesn’t help, it isn’t the way to protect us, either! Have you forgotten what happened last time he gained access to your mind? Have you truly forgotten the pain you suffered then? Every time before?” The man was towering, all darkness and righteous, incandescent fury, wand sparking and eyes flashing. Then suddenly Severus sagged, dulled, as though all the light and fight had been drained from him, swaying on the spot like a drunkard,

“You have, haven’t you? Or rather, you’ve disregarded it. With your twisted logic, this is _helping_. Causing yourself pain, risking yourself, is helping. _Please_ Harry, please, tell me I’m wrong.” And there was something so intrinsically wrong with this defeated man in front of him, who had only seconds ago been so full of anger, so full of life, now begging, pleading. Harry flinched at the sight.

“I- I’m sorry Severus, I can’t. I just needed to _know_. After Fenrir- I- Severus-“

“Save it. You’re rebuilding all of your shields right now.” They were statements, not questions. Harry still visually hesitated, eyes bright and haunted with unshed tears.

“ _DO IT!”_ Severus screamed, dignity gone, spittle flying and wand only an inch from the younger’s face. Now Harry did as he was told, closing his eyes for nearly a full minute, during which nobody spoke or even particularly dared to breathe, not wanting to attract the Potions Master’s attention, who remained stood where he was, shaking.

“I- Sev- He… They’re in place,” Harry finally murmured, posture uncertain and just a tad defensive. He felt so small with the looming figure of Severus above him, but he knew exactly why he truly felt so small, and it wasn't that.

“Drink these,” came the next order, two potions bottles coming flying into the room and smacking against the elder’s open palm. The young man took them gingerly, his shaking becoming ever more pronounced. The empty phials were soon placed next to his half-cleared plate.

“Bed. Now. You’re sleeping those off.” With that terse final remark, Severus himself swept out of the room, uncaring of the stunned silence he’d left behind. And, after a few long seconds, a very much subdued Harry followed after him.

 

It only took half an hour of lying in their respective beds, silent and wide-awake, both shell-shocked, before Harry slowly clambered out from beneath his covers.

“May I-”

“Get in, idiot brat, before I change my mind.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t.” And that single word made Severus’ remaining fury blatant, but Harry still curled close to his warmth anyway,

“I’m sorry Sev'rus.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted – needed – to know. To have some kind of control.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to get hurt, but it didn’t seem relevant.”

“I know.”

 

As they slowly relaxed, a little of the tension leaving both their bodies and the room, Harry dared to shift a little closer and Severus finally, finally, wrapped long arms around the ball of young man.

“It… scared me. You scared me, Harry. I lost you.”

“I know.”

And they slipped into restless sleep.

 

 

 

Somehow, Severus pondered to himself as he lay awake the next morning, Harry breathing soft and deep against his collar bone, getting to the bottom of his brat's odd state wasn't satisfying in the slightest. It wasn't even particularly relieving. How could it be? So what if the younger had replaced his shields now. It didn't change the brat's mentality of _'everyone else first'_ and _'I deserve to hurt'_. And the worst part, the nasty bit that struck somewhere soft in Severus' chest and stayed there with claws and teeth and spine, was that he knew nothing would cure that but time and care. And oh, how little time they might have. How little of their care they could afford to demonstrate. It didn't bare thinking about; none of it did. So, he tried not to. Instead, he zeroed in on the slow, steady rise and fall of the slim chest, held close to him, ribs discernible against his arms even through two layers of thin fabric, albeit with lithe muscles there too. Harry was curled up in a tight ball, defensive in nature but leaning into Severus enough to know that it was only against outside forces, not him. Harry felt safer in his arms, and he felt content when the younger was so blatantly better, secure, calmer. Sleeping peacefully. The brat's knees were pressed against the elder's sternum in a way that shouldn't be comfortable for either of them, but Severus for one was more than willing to put up with it if it meant being close together in a way they hadn't been for four days. In a way that he hadn't entirely realised he was so desperate for until now. Soft locks tumbled against his jaw and neck, interlacing thoughtlessly with his own, so similar at first glance yet truly so different. And the regular little puffs of warm air against his clavicle were a precious reassurance that Harry was here, was safe and alive and breathing. He permitted himself the urge of running his thumbs against the dip and curve of the younger's hip bones, tracing the warm skin of his back as though strumming a beloved instrument, gentle and reverent. It was the false hope that Severus could protect him from everything and everyone, even Voldemort or the very brat himself, so long as he stayed here in his arms. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something about this chapter feels very rushed to me, but I don't know. Maybe that's just because half of it was an extract I wrote months ago and have finally been able to use, much to my joy. Let me know if you think the pacing's been too fast recently?  
> Thank you all for reading, hope you're still enjoying this fic! *hugs* Ota - xxx


	32. All We Seem To Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sev tries to help Harry recover.
> 
> Oh, and please don't miss the midweek update from last Thursday!

 

Harry came to awareness slowly, consciousness wading through molasses, all too-sweet and cloying, fake and impermanent. The warmth enveloping him was sure to be gone soon too, the very instant Severus realised he was awake.

“I’m not letting go, but you’re still in trouble, brat.”

“I know. I’m so-"

“Don’t. We did that last night. Now you face the consequences.”

“Which are?” Harry inquired, tone hesitant, but feeling brave enough, or perhaps repentant enough, to wriggle a little, lean further back into the elder’s arms and squint up at him through bangs and a lack of glasses.

“A fair question to which I don’t yet have an answer. It could be argued that the visions themselves were punishment enough, I assume?”

“Merlin, yes. They were- I-“

 

Something in the blurry face of the Potions Master softened, melted, yet hardened along the set of his jaw and brow.

“How many?” And his voice was a caress as much as his hands were.

“Four.”

“Including at dinner?” Harry could only hum in reply, refusing to bury his head in the other’s chest but wanting to oh-so-desperately.

“I’m sorry,” Severus went on. Wait, what?

“Are you really?” The words were flat and blunt, but their solidity fractured around the edges.

“For your pain? Always.” And now he did give in to his own shuddering breaths and crushed himself into an even tighter ball, uncaring of oxygen, just trying to draw every ounce of comfort from Severus as possible.

 

“There were so many- the fires- children- Merlin, Sev- I-“

 

“Hush Harry, hush. It’s all been and gone now, hush. Breathe for me, yes, in, one, two, three…” But it did little good as Harry choked on thin air and smoke, limbs twitching but unmoving in death, feeling the phantom burns of fire and flame and unheard acidic cackling that poured down his spine in a fury of pain and mockery.

“Harry-” But the younger didn’t register any of his words, instead gasping his way into darkness.

“Fucking hell,” Severus groaned, clutching the brat close but knowing it made no difference at this point. He’d already passed out. That was one of the worst panic attacks he’d seen him have and it was… terrifying, honestly. He’d come so very close to losing Harry in the last few days and hadn’t even known it. Oh, he’d known something was wrong, but he’d never even contemplated a disaster of this scale. He should’ve known, with Harry. He really should have.

 

Looking down the bed, to the curled up and shivering form of his brat, Severus couldn’t help but wonder what they should do know. If Harry was willing to go to such great lengths to have any kind of glimpse into the Dark Lord’s activities, then they would need to find an alternative of some description to abate his recklessness. Perhaps they would need to conscript some spies after all…

 

Severus desperately wanted to keep his Slytherins out of the war entirely. He did not want to see anybody else in the position he himself had been stuck in. But, perhaps Harry had a point. If they took in some spies, offered them political immunity, protection for their families… but how to achieve that? They’d need far more resources than they currently had available. As a Professor at Hogwarts, Severus had been paid reasonably, although not handsomely, but certainly not enough to fund more than perhaps one person beyond himself for any length of time. And with Spinner’s End likely ransacked already, he had nothing to speak of in terms of property either. The Weasleys, Lupin, Harry, none of them had much by way of fina-

Wait. No. Harry! He was the bloody Potter Heir, the chances of him only having a little money were ridiculously small. And he was seventeen now, so he must have access to all of the vaults. And Black’s things too – the brat’s dogfather doubtlessly left him as the main inheritor, he was his Heir after all. Harry would have money and probably properties, so they most likely _could_ afford to put a small number of families into protection. And a small number of spies, even if they weren’t member of the Inner Circle, was moons better than none at all, intelligence wise. And Severus himself could train them, ensure that their Occlumency was up to snuff, let them know how to balance truth, lie and half-truth, when to bluff and when to fold, how to avoid suspicion, how to report back to the Order without moving a muscle or uttering a single spell. With his tutelage, some of his snakes could become spies, could protect their families, could be guaranteed safety after the war, at least from the legal system. And those were better chances than they would have had by themselves, forced into slavery to a lunatic by peers and parents and expectations.

Maybe Severus could help Harry and some of his Slytherins at the same time. He'd certainly do his damndest to make it work at least.

 

It was a solid hour later that Harry began to stir, hands clenching in soft black flannel, grazing flesh with light, trembling warmth.

"Hello brat." Severus kept his tone carefully neutral, determined to keep Harry in as good a headspace as possible.

"Sev'rus," he rasped, sounding disconnected, vaguely discontent.

“Hm?” He didn’t dare prompt the brat too much.

“I-” A loud growling interrupted the younger, causing them both to startle a little, staring at the Harry’s stomach. How rude.

“Perhaps we should eat before anything else?”

“I guess so.”

“Certainly,” Severus stated. Merlin knew the brat would need to eat anyway, even if his stomach hadn’t alerted them to the issue

 

“Wait. What time is it?” The elder allowed a non-verbal answer Harry by itself. Ten past eleven. At least the kitchen should be empty for an hour or so yet. As such, the Potions Master began to gently prod a finger into the younger’s shoulder,

“Come on then brat. No time for lollygagging. Once we’ve eaten, I wish to share a few ideas with you.” Knowing that Harry’s insatiable curiosity would now be sufficiently bated, the elder completely removed his arms from around the wizard, mourning the rush of cold air and the loss of content warmth in his chest. Apparently feeling the same melancholy, Harry took a moment to lean further forwards, resting his forehead against the elder’s chest. Then he began to draw back and painstakingly stood up and fumbled for his wand, changing his clothes. Severus couldn’t help but watch the younger, eyes following every movement, every breath and twitch.

“Well then? Don’t tell me the old man can’t get out of bed.” It was a poor attempt at teasing, but it was an attempt and Severus would value it for that much, even as he rolled his eyes and huffed at the brat, beginning to lever himself up.

“Don’t call me old, I’m only thirty-two.”

“My point exactly.” Oh, that manipulative little imp. Clever, clever boy. He knew that Severus was… insecure, for lack of a better word, about his own age. _Gryffindor_ indeed. And to hide it so well.

 

Allowing himself to only half-sneer his smile, Severus ushered Harry out into the corridor, both of them immediately on alert for others. They could really do with talking things out between themselves before they started involving third parties in the mix, that was for sure. It was bound to be a mess as-is.

 

Fortunately, they didn’t encounter anyone in their travels and were quick to gather some cold meats and butter some bread, plus nab a bowl of the remaining raspberries to share, and settle at the far end of the table, where they wouldn’t be visible from the hallway. And so they ate. For now, they didn’t speak, allowing themselves to bask in the peace and quiet of simply existing together for a little while longer. Such a shame it couldn’t last forever.

 

Accordingly, once they’d eaten their fill, neither quite with a full appetite despite their bodies’ demands, the two descended further to the basement by tacit agreement. Once privacy wards were erected and a small sofa Conjured, they settled down together, Harry tucked into the elder’s side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, a hand of his own placed gently atop Severus’ leg.

“So, putting aside the issue of your voluntary… self-sacrifice-” Harry winced at the sneer, although neither drew away, “-I have a proposal for you.”

“That’s a familiar statement.”

“Indeed. Hopefully this will be as fruitful as the previous.” Harry hummed in reply, curious, if a little hesitant.

 

“I am willing to initiate a spying network, focusing on Slytherins from your year group and their families.”

 

There was silence for a long few seconds, then a grin broke up the dark lines of Harry’s face and the brat twisted in his seat to fling his arms around the elder’s neck.

“Thank you Severus! Thank you, thank Merlin, thank you.” He babbled, the words muffled into the Potions Master’s shoulder.

“I…” But he could say nothing in the face of the younger’s relief and gratitude. He’d denied this in favour of his own fears and worries. And he could do nothing but curse himself now. Even more so as a damp patch began to soak into the collar of his robes and his brat’s shoulders shook and heaved, his breaths hitching but not quite gasping as in the beginning of a panic attack, thank Merlin.

“Hush now brat. Hush now Harry, come on brat, I’m sorry, it’s all fine, I’m sorry, hush.” And gradually, amongst the platitudes and nearly-silent apologies, Harry calmed down and his tears stopped. Neither mentioned how Severus’ eyes were a little blurry in their own right, even if his cheeks had remained dry.

 

“Thank you Severus, truly. I can’t stand- we can’t- The Light _needs_ an intelligence network. We’ll lose without it.”

“Indeed.” And only Harry was there to hear all the regrets in his voice, but then again, Harry was the only one who needed to hear, who he would allow to hear, so perhaps the matter was inconsequential.

“I… I’ve had a few ideas for it. Communications, members etcetera. Can we talk about them later?”

“Certainly, brat. Perhaps after lunch we can approach the logistics? Work out the majority of it, then present the general idea to the Order next Meeting?”

“Sounds like a plan. What about the Horcruxes? We should check Hogwarts.”

“Likely so. Although we shall require a suitable method of destruction. Fiendfyre would work-“

“No worries there, I have the ideal way.”

“Oh?” Severus challenged, an eyebrow arching high.

“Indeed,” Harry teased in return, “Basilisk venom ringing any bells there, Mr Potions Master?”

“ _Basilisk?”_ And all of his masks came crashing for a flabbergasted moment. Harry could only revel in the openness on that proud face, at the slightly parted lips, beautiful in the way of crushed, twisted petals, and widened whiskey eyes, brooding and smoky as aged bourbon, just as burning, searing down his throat as welcomed acid, and as enrapturing as amber ensnaring an innocent lion. Or a snake even.

“Basilisk,” he confirmed, a devious smirk pulling at his features in a way he so rarely allowed them to.

“Wha…” The elder trailed off, and Harry couldn’t help but preen at the continued shock.

“Where on Earth did you gain access to Basilisk venom? It’s incredibly scarce, not to mention virtually priceless.”

“In the Chamber of Secrets.”

“From your second year? But Albus assured us… Ah, I see.”

“He lied to you, probably. Ginny was possessed; Ron and I went down with Lockhart to try and save her; I ended up fighting the Basilisk thanks to one of Voldie’s Horcruxes – the diary – and got bitten whilst killing it. Fawkes cried on the wound, although it left a scar, and I used that fang to stab the diary. I didn’t know it then, but it killed the Horcrux. And the Basilisk’s corpse is still down there, preserved. I checked last year; used the place as a bolthole for a while.”

“Merlin’s rainbow garter… Harry… Albus told us not to worry, when we came forward with concerns of a Basilisk attacking the students, that it was all in hand. We should- I should have known-!”

“There’s no point ranting over it now, Sev’rus. Been and done and all that.”

“It’s the principal of the matter, idiot brat. Now _where_ is this scar?”

“Severus!” the younger yelped, as demanding, yet deceptively gentle, hands reached for his wrists. Despite instantly settling at the elder’s touch, Harry tugged his arms back and pushed up his sleeve, glamours flickering and fading. And indeed, just below his elbow, was a perfectly circular, if still slightly jagged, mass of scar tissue, raised almost a full centimetre at the edges, where the flesh was oddly marred, as though corroded rather than stabbed. The venom, most likely. And, taking a second to truly take in the younger’s arm as a whole, Severus couldn’t help but notice the long rope of scar tissue stretching at a shallow diagonal across Harry’s wrist, the top starting a few millimetres from the scar he was actually meant to be looking at.

 

“This isn’t from you…”

“What? Oh, Merlin, no!” Harry rushed to refute the suggestion, “No, I haven’t- No! It was Pettigrew, fourth year, at the gr- at the graveyard.” And Severus couldn’t miss the significance of that. Nor disregard his own wave of absolute relief.

“Good. Back to the point-”

“You were the one who went off on a tangent-!”

“This is from the Basilisk biting you?” Harry simply nodded, too focused on how Severus had began to trace a careful fingertip around the edge of the circular scar repetitively, a trail of tingling following the thoughtless movement.

“Hm. A nasty reminder.” He didn’t miss how Harry tensed at that, making to pull away. Ah, of course.

“I did not mean that it was unsightly Harry, merely that the circumstances under which you gained it were unfortunate. Understand?” The way the younger melted back into his touch was answer enough.

 

“Very well. We have a reliable method for dealing with any Horcruxes we find. Now we shall simply have to find them.” And if he delighted in the way Harry snickered and snorted at his blasé tone, well, nobody else was to know.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so for some reason I hadn't researched this before, but apparently it's actually incredibly rare for panic attacks to be able to trigger fainting? It typically requires a secondary, underlying condition such as 'syncope' which when paired with a bad panic attack can incite fainting. The blood pressures of the two phenomenon are actually opposing - fainting is a drop, panic attacks are an increase. For plot purposes, I'm going to disregard this fact, or assume that Syncope affects Harry, but if this is something/similar to something you or somebody close to you has experienced, please feel free to educate me some!
> 
> Love, hugs, Ota. Xxx


	33. All That Is Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of conversations are had; the beginnings of various plans are coming into existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a companion snippet for Remus' POV for a chunk of this chapter over on my adjacent work 'And All The Hours In Between' - go check it out if you're interested!

 

Lunch was, fortunately, not an awkward affair in the least, as the two simply didn't attend it. Instead, they spent a little time expending some excess magical energy with a playful Duel, more prank spells than practice spells, turning hair bright pink and eyebrows into spiders, or the ground into slime and thumbs into leeks, before removing or undoing all the effects and deciding that at around half two it should be late enough to avoid everyone and heading up to get some food, eating, then proceeding to their corner of the library, privacy spells and wards in full force. Nobody should disturb them this way.

 

"Right then, your ideas for the spy network?" Severus would forever deny being startled by the rush of notes and stack of books that hurtled out of Harry's book bag in lieu of a verbal reply to his question.

“So, here is a preliminary list of members. As for protecting their families, I wasn’t sure yet. How to, that is.”

“You’re seventeen now Harry. You can access all of the Potter vaults, and most likely those of the Blacks too. There will be properties, deeds and monies there for your use, however you should wish,” Severus commented rather idly, scanning over the names that comprised the list that had been gestured to. Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode. Yes, those five were all from Death Eater or Supporter families, three of whom were likely to be marked. They could probably add one or two older Slytherins to that same list. Neither Goyle nor Crabbe were likely to sway from the cause. The Greengrasses were as neutral as they could get; which, in all fairness, was neutral enough to pass under the radar, to coin a Muggle phrase. Tracey Davies was a halfblood and thus highly unlikely to be recruited, a clever girl but not an exceptional one, ensuring her relative non-participance. Yes, Harry had chosen well. Although, it would take quite some further consideration as to who within the families they would be willing to extend protection to. It would do no good allowing Lucius, for example, to enter any of their admittedly not-yet-existent safe houses. But Severus did know that none of his Slytherins from the list were truly eager to become Death Eaters. So there was hope.

"This list certainly seems sensible. Have you considered any of the students from a year or two before you? Take, for example..." And so they devolved into debates over character and family and safety. 

 

Nearly an hour later, Harry heaved a sigh and stood from his chair, taking a few moments to stretch in place, whilst Severus leant further back into the embrace of his own seat. Seeing this, and unable to resist, the younger traversed the single full step between them and came to perch upon an arm of Severus' chair, resting slightly against the elder, face buried against long, silky hair.

“Are we doing the right thing?”

“I should hope so.” But feeling the tension pervading Harry’s form and how his wilder magic began to writhe through the air, Severus was quick to go on,  
“In all seriousness Harry, I _do_ believe we are. No matter how reluctant I may be to admit it is so. We need information. And if we can protect those who would otherwise be forced fully into the Dark… Well, it will be worth it. It _will_.” Neither spoke after that, but Severus did raise a hand to cradle against the younger’s neck, relishing in the heartbeat that pulsed with heady life beneath the contact of their skin.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t being honest with you. That I wasn’t there for you.”

“You didn’t need to ‘be there for me’, arrogant brat.”

“But I did. If only because I wasn’t,” the younger stated bluntly, as though his circular nonsense was actually logical.

“How ridiculous.” But he couldn’t hide much from Harry anymore.

“I was out of it. I was giving you half-truths at best. I was keeping my problems from you and that’s not what we do now. I wasn’t thinking or feeling properly and you suffered for it, Severus, and for that I should be sorry. I _am_ sorry.” Accepting that, because the brat was right, up to a point, Severus murmured a quiet acknowledgement and stroked his thumb along the length of the other’s throat for a few seconds before stilling once more.

 

They stayed there, settled together, leaning against one another, until approaching footsteps could be heard and their furthest proximity ward was triggered. With a soft groan of annoyance, Harry stood up and backed away, heading for the nearest bookshelf. Severus simply returned his attention to the open book in his lap, subtly dismissing the majority of their privacy wards.

“Harry, Severus. Mind if I join you?” Resisting the rather unfair urge to snarl bitterly at the werewolf, Harry grinned at the man and nodded. It wasn’t Remus’ fault that all Harry wanted was to read, pressed up against Severus, otherwise blissfully alone. So he’d be nice. It would be unreasonable to act otherwise. Or so he told himself, fighting the temptation of just asking the other man to leave. And judging from the tautness in Severus’ shoulders, and the way he untucked his hair from behind his ear, he was no less irritated.

 

As Remus Conjured an armchair of his own, Harry returned to his own seat, a semi-random book in his hands to add to one of the piles on the table.

“So what brings you to our corner of the library?” Good, he’d managed to sound more curious than accusing.

“Nothing much. I simply wanted to enquire after you, Harry. Dinner yesterday… well, it was a tad concerning in the least, I’m sure you understand.”

“Remus…” Struggling to find an excuse, an explanation – anything, really, to avoid the truth of the matter, or any of the more embarrassing aspects, Harry looked to Severus, then cut his gaze back to the werewolf’s hand, pale against the maroon of his Conjured chair. It was safer to look at than the man’s face.

 

“I think you will find that Harry did make an… inadvisable choice, but that it has been suitably dealt with and an alternative intelligence network is being thought out. Is that sufficient?”

“I suppose,” Remus visibly hesitated, and Harry dreaded whatever was to follow. “But may I ask, what exactly was Harry doing? Obviously, he was experiencing visions, and he’d taken down his Occlumency shields, but what was actually happening?”

“I have some kind of mental connection with Voldie, thanks to the whole trying to kill me thing, plus the prophecy, the brother wands… Fate just has it out for me, I guess.”

“But what is that mental connection based on? Clearly, you had a degree of access to it?”

“Yeh…" he tried to keep his frantic thinking hidden,  
"Our magic is… bonded is too intimate a term, but you get the idea.”

“Merlin. No wonder…”

“Indeed. Now, if you would, we have plans to concoct.” Fortunately, Remus did stand up, even as Harry sniggered quietly,

“Must you make it sound so evil, Severus?”

“Of course, brat. I am a Slytherin after all.” The Potions Master returned their privacy wards to their correct state, prompting Harry to reach over and brush a casual hand down the elder's forearm, albeit staying in his own seat this time.

“You are quite.”

“I am _very_. And I’d thank you to remember it.” Harry allowed himself to sink into the comfort of his plush armchair, snorting then dissolving into full-on laughter. If it was a little hysterical, neither of them were going to call him out on it.

 

Regardless, once Harry’s little bout of mirth subsided, the two settled back into research. And when Harry first stumbled across the spell, he knew it was ideal. Not perfect, no, but it would definitely help matters.

“Hey, Severus, fancy performing this, once we get the Order to agree?” And at the certainty and determination in Harry’s tone, Severus knew he would likely agree to any ritual,

“Well, give me the book then, silly brat.”

 

Harry resisted the urge to fidget whilst the elder examined the two pages dedicated to the ritual-based spell, instead turning over the idea in his head. It really was-

“A good idea here, Harry. Any concerns?”

“Yes. We can’t bind it to my wand, to me, because of the ‘twin wand’ situation. I’m unwilling to risk compromising everyone just because of some kind of bloody hierarchy. We can bind it to your wand instead, that way I will always have access to it, albeit not quite directly.”

 

Severus didn’t miss how Harry had slipped into his ‘leader persona’, more making orders than asking questions, but in this case he was hardly going to care. It was necessary for the war after all. And he definitely didn’t mind how Harry had insinuated that they would always be in close enough proximity for him to always have access to the spell. Not at all.

“Very well, we can present this to them tomorrow, then perform the ritual next week, yes?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” With that decided, the appropriate pages of the tome were copied a few times and set aside for the others to read, and the pair resumed their perusing of their individual books.

 

“Hey, Severus, do you think we should propose the spies too?”

“To the Order?”

“Yeh.”

“Hm. Perhaps not tomorrow. It’s enough to bring in the scrying spell, I expect. No need to overwhelm the dunderheads. And before we establish the network, it might be best to stay subtle about it. Allude to it, but not give overt information. No names until we have the families safe and Oaths or Vows secured.”

“Okay, that sounds sensible-”

“What did you expect?”

“-to me,” Harry finished, sending a half-hearted glare at the elder,

“Don’t be facetious, you git.”

“Then don’t be obtuse, you brat.”

“Bastard.”

“Imp.”

“Grump.”

“That was pathetic.”

“So are you.”

“And that was even more so.”

“Oh, shut up Severus.” The elder merely sneered, eyes glinting and tying his hair up. Harry didn’t miss the playfulness beneath the derision. Yes, both were there, but one was far more felt than the other. And Harry knew it.

 

“Regarding scrying spells, or rather locating spells, which of these do you believe appears more useful?” With his words, Severus proffered two open books, and nudged a third closer to Harry’s half of the table. And, after giving Harry enough time to read and assimilate the information, he went on,

“Well? I know which I’m inclined towards, but I’m interested to see if you would agree.”

“Hm. The ‘Iubeo Invenire’ would probably be the most useful. We don’t have easy access to any other Horcruxes – or, well, I don’t get how we’d use my scar for it – so the ‘Kin Of A Kind’ ritual would probably turn out wonky. And ‘Itaque me ducere istum’ is overly convoluted, at least in comparison. Getting access to all of these ingredients before the beginning of term… So what if ‘Iubeo Invenire’ is a bit Darker, but it isn’t all the way over there, and I’m not sure I’d really care when it comes to finding the Horcruxes.”

“Rather my thoughts too. Good; ‘Iubeo Invenire’ it is.” Green eyes met Severus’ and there was an intensity there, a rawness overlaid by focus, as though the shades of his irises were an entire mountain range, indomitable and oh-so-infinite compared to their own human mortality, so beautiful yet with deadly potential. They were stunning.

 

It was curious, Severus mused to himself, gaze still ensnared, how Harry, who used to remind him so much of both Lily and Potter, was now neither of them in the slightest. Oh, he might have dark hair and green eyes and glasses and a button nose. But the lines of his jaw and cheekbone were his own; his eyebrows weren’t as coarse or thick as Potter; his hair was curlier than Potter’s but completely different to Lily’s; his eyes were deep and bagged, haunted yet flashed verdantly, clear in the way of a deep lake: crystal sharp, still, yet quick to darken and always concealing the ship wrecked far below. The brat – his brat – was far separate from everybody else, dead or alive, related or not. And a guilty, lonely child somewhere in Severus’ gut was possessive over _Harry_ – only he knew so many of the young man’s layers, and no matter how unpleasant, how damaged, they could be, he was indescribably glad for each one. But Harry didn’t need to know that – couldn’t know that. One day… perhaps. But until then.

 

“So, we’ll speak to Minerva at the next Meeting, inform her that we wish to check for anything the Dark Lord may have left during his tenure as a student. Head down to the Chamber of Secrets, ensure we have sufficient Basilisk venom, then perhaps cast the locator there first. We can re-cast later if need be. Additions?” Harry thought for a minute, one foot thoughtlessly tapping against Severus’ ankle,

“I don’t think so. Although we’ll need something to carry them in, because I don’t think we should destroy them in Hogwarts; it doesn’t need more Dark Magic. But they can’t make this place any worse. And, actually, we might be better off casting the locator more centrally.”

“A fair assessment. And I believe that I may have a bag that would suit. Remind me this evening and I’ll look to see if I still have it.”

“Okay. The next Meeting’s tomorrow, isn’t it? No, it is, we’ve already said it is.” Severus merely grunted a vague affirmative.

“Well, we have, what, eight days until the first, so that should be fine. We can double-check our sources on the locator spell. And Duel?” The last question was clearly a hopeful one, and thus one Severus could hardly deny,

“I suppose.” The answering grin was worth it.

 

 

Heading down to dinner that evening had Harry visibly tense.

“Brat, if you don’t like a question then just deflect it. You’re good at that.” The compliment was lost in the face of Harry’s nerves.

“I-” He sighed heavily, “I know. But I don’t like doing it. I’ve done it enough. My whole bloody life!”

“Indeed you have: out of varying degrees of necessity, most severe.”

“So? I’ve still-”     *****

“No Harry. You-”

“I have! It’s-”

“You should! It’s how you-”

“Fine. Sure. Let’s just eat and get gone.”

“Very well,” Severus conceded, knowing it would be a matter for another time. As though there weren’t enough of those already.

 

Entering the kitchen to find it thankfully half-empty, Harry and Severus were quick to isolate themselves at one end of the table, allowing Remus to help box them in. Hopefully, and Severus would never admit that he wished for their presence, but hopefully the twins would do the rest of the blockading. They, whilst impertinent menaces, were always good at understanding when Harry needed space. Such as now.

 

His hopes were for once granted, as the imps were next to bounce into the room, immediately settling opposite Severus and Remus, thus completely surrounding Harry. Very good.

“So Harrikins, is it” “safe to assume that” “the esteemed Professor here has managed” “to hex you back on the” “proverbial broomstick?”   ******

“Ah, yeh. We’re coming up with an alternative, so it’s fine now.” And the two did scrutinise him carefully during this, but upon finding nothing untoward, glancing over at Severus to receive a nod, and then exchanging a meaningful silence of their own, the two leant back into their chairs, relaxing.

“Good, good. So” “on a brighter note, what do” “you think of some of” “these ideas?” And off they went, rambling at the younger man in a pleasant, if arguably hazardous, distraction.

 

When everybody had gathered in the room they began to serve themselves up their meal, thankfully not directing any probing questions at the brat. Then, a few minutes into actually eating, Hermione was the one to speak up,

“Harry, are you alright now? Have you put your Occlumency back into place?” Despite seeming to want to say more, she visibly restrained herself, mouth twisted in a mixture of concern and earnestness. Noticing all of this, along with how much attention the majority of the table was paying, Harry paused for a long moment, eyes travelling from person to person,

“Yes, it’s all fine now. I’m sorry for the disturbance of it; Severus and I have sorted it all out. We’re all safe, I promise.”

“And when you say ‘we’, you are including yourself, right?”

“You think I would neglect to ensure that?” Severus interjected, trying to temper his audible indignation.

“You-!” Ron was instantaneously cut off by his mother,

“I’d hope you would! If you are alright now Harry, then that is good enough. But please be more careful in the future!” Molly was being delightfully moderate, and Harry grinned at her in thanks, nodding and adding,

“Of course. Don’t worry, Severus had already lectured me half-to-death. We’ve got a plan in the works now.”

 

And, despite a few mutinous and enquiring glances, the rest of dinner passed quite peacefully. Severus wouldn’t even bother denying his own relief. The easier things were for Harry, the easier they were for the elder as well.

 

 

\------------------------------------------

 

 

 *****   “Indeed you have: out of varying degrees of necessity, most being severe.”

“So? I’ve still-” lied to them.

“No Harry. You-” have protected yourself, if-

“I have! It’s-” wrong. _I’m_ wrong. I shouldn’t-

“You should! It’s how you-” were raised - and that’s nobody’s fault but those bastards!

“Fine. Sure. Let’s just eat and get gone.”

“Very well,” Severus conceded.

 

 

 ****** Instead of _‘set you back on the straight and narrow’_ , there is a common Wizarding equivalent of _'hexed_ _you back on your broomstick’_ , implying that someone has shown you, likely forcefully, back onto your original path, typically one leading to success.

 

 **Iubeo Invenire** – I demand to find - a Shade Ritual known for its accurate descriptions of objects and their locations. Whilst in this it is very useful, the ritual itself can be an issue. Firstly, the caster must have great magical power and an even greater amount of willpower. It backfires spectacularly if they cannot sufficiently concentrate on the perimeters of where they want to search. Failure to set mental limits on the search area will overwhelm the caster and the runes will not form in the smoke, but will instead brand themselves directly in the caster's brain - resulting in either a number of psychological and physical issues or, more commonly, death. Then, should the caster be sufficiently capable, they will then need a companion who is intelligent and quick-witted enough to scribe all of the runes that form. Missing even only one or two could lead to a heavily incorrect translation. 

 

 **Itaque me ducere ad istum**   -  accordingly, lead me to this – the bound locator spell - a very accurate locator spell that can, should the caster be within a certain proximity to the object in question (the stronger the caster, the greater this distance can be), temporarily 'bind' the object to the caster's wand, thus allowing them to sense where the object is or even directly Summon said object. However, the spell first requires a ritual which rather convoluted and archaic, requiring at least a few weeks of preparation which would, at the time of the spell's creation, been months' worth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the last few chapters, I've felt like everything's been very rushed and manic and all-at-once. In other words, my pacing feels too fast, but you guys tell me. Is it making sense? Have I left any little plot holes? Do I need to add in a more-filler-like chapter somewhere around here (e.g. from chapter 28-34 probably) or something else entirely?  
> Let me know what you think!  
> Thanks as always for reading and hoping you're enjoying - love, Ota. Xxx


	34. All Actions That Are Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Readying themselves to collect Horcruxes is arduous in itself.

 

Once all of the Order members had sat down, Harry was quick to speak,

“Glad to see everybody’s here and safe. If there’s nothing urgent,” he paused for a few seconds, but nobody was forthcoming,  
“Then I have something to discuss with you all. This ritual,” and here he flicked his fingers and the stack of parchment beside him shot out, separating, two sheets to every three people,  
“Would allow me to, essentially, scry you. It would, of course, only be used when necessary, though perhaps once a day at an allotted time also, primarily so that I know you are safe, even if you’re on a mission or in a position wherein you cannot access communications. Additionally, were any of you to be captured or the like, it may afford us an insight into your location and overall situation. It _is_ your choice, but I would like to undergo this ritual with all of you.”

Seeing the various nods and determined looks around the room, Harry decided to take the plunge,

“It won’t be bound to my wand though-” and continued to speak through the resultant outcry of confusion at that, “-but instead to Severus’. After all, The Dark Lord and I share twin wands. And I _refuse_ to risk you all by binding this spell to myself when it might compromise your privacy, your routines, your locations and your allies to _Him_!” Harry was practically spitting the final words, a feral cat normally tame, righteous anger twining with fear to create a heady outrage that caused his eyes to glow and the candles in the room to gutter just a little too obviously.

 

 

Whilst Harry’s passionate tone had initially halted all of the protests, after a few seconds they returned in full force. Cries of _‘Death Eater!’_ and _‘How can we trust him?’_ and _‘What if he betrays us?!’_ rang around the room, and though he wouldn’t flinch outwardly, a small part of Severus did cringe back, offended and not-quite hurt. Then Harry’s foot tapped against his own and the younger stood up, movements abrupt and magic visibly crackling around him, green-gold and purple-black,

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

 

 

Everything, everyone, went still and silent.

 

 

“Very obnoxious of you Harry. How Gryffindor,” the words were said in an undertone, but nobody missed them in the silent room. They were certainly louder than a pin dropping. The younger man simply rolled his eyes and half-heartedly kicked at the elder with a cheeky glint to his eyes.

“Thank you,” whether the slightly sarcastic words were directed at Severus, the Order or both was unclear.

“Firstly, Severus would not even be in here if I didn’t trust him. Secondly, he has done more, sacrificed more, for this cause than you know. Thirdly, if you can trust me, then _you can trust him_. Is that understood?” A series of hesitant nods followed his words, small waves in the wake of a tsunami. Harry retook his seat, his smile as sharp as a dagger, and none too kind for it.

 

 

“Very well. Do you all consent to this ritual? No, you do not have to, but I for one hope you would. It would improve the safety of all of us, and I shall be the one in charge of when it is cast. Provided the situation allows it, I will only use it when you are aware it will be cast.” When nobody spoke up in protest, Harry finally bestowed them all with a brilliant smile, deceptively soft around the edges.

“Thank you. We will perform the ritual next week. Ideally, we need you all there at once. Would…” As the meeting temporarily devolved into logistics, Severus took a moment to marvel at the young man’s influence over them. With a little showy magic and some choice words, he’d manipulated them into something they had previously been reluctant to do. Perhaps the younger would flinch at such a description of events, but it wasn’t inaccurate. Yet beyond that, it also demonstrated how the Order had genuine faith in Harry, in his power and allies and convictions, and even indicated just how desperate the war was rapidly becoming, for them to consent so quickly to an ex-Death Eater having free access to their lives. At least in this case that desperation was working in their favour, not against them.

 

 

Regardless, with that matter settled, the Order Meeting continued. Harry reported the Vows agreed with the Teller and Cole packs. Bill and Fleur spoke of her Healer training and how she would be able to help Pomfrey whenever needed, so long as she wasn’t on shift. Unfortunately, Bill’s position with the neutral Goblins would have far fewer benefits, but at least he was another capable fighter. And if they needed more places warding – which, if Harry and Severus’ plans went well, they most likely would – then at least they’d be able to more directly access Gringotts’s services without going out into public. Thank Merlin for that. It would be bad enough going there via a direct Floo, let alone if they had to Apparate into Diagon Alley first. Yes, they would definitely be taking advantage of that. A few more potential initiates were discussed, but all were put off to a later date. Although it was also agreed that the DA of Hogwarts would be continued by Ron and Hermione over the coming year, to help ensure that the students would be able to protect themselves should there be an attack at any stage. Because if Voldemort did target the school, then it would take a lot to protect the large number of children and if they could watch their own backs, and the older students were capable enough to protect the younger during an evacuation, then it would be a massive help to the Order and any Aurors that were called. And, well, some skill in Duelling would never be a bad thing.

 

 

The Meeting itself had been quite a calm one, with a surprising amount of progress and agreements. Even better, Severus flagged Minerva down as everything began to finish up, a few people leaving immediately.

“Severus, Potter, what can I do for you?”

“We’d like access to Hogwarts tomorrow. We have reason to believe that the Dark Lord may have left a number of incredibly Dark artefacts there, of a similar nature to the Diary from Harry’s second year.”

“I thought that was insinuated by Malfoy senior?”

“It was, but he was originally entrusted it by the Dark Lord. Hence the ‘of a similar nature’.”

“No need to be snide,” she admonished, but inclined her head,  
“Very well. I will ensure the castle is empty, barring the elves, from eleven to four. I assume that will be sufficient?” Severus glanced at Harry, noting the single tap of his finger against his thigh, and nodded in turn,

“Perfectly, thank you. We will be gone by three thirty.”

“Excellent. Good evening gentlemen,” she offered before sweeping over to the Floo and disappearing in a flare of green flames.

 

 

Accordingly, just after eleven the next day, Harry and Severus came through the Headmistress' Floo into an empty castle. 

“After you.”

“Sure; second floor, girls’ bathroom it is.” Even as they set off, Severus shot a sceptical look at the younger man,

“Myrtle’s bathroom? Truly?”

“Yeh,” Harry’s face was the picture of resignation,

“I assume it’s because there wasn’t plumbing when Hogwarts was founded, and then the castle readjusted herself around the remodelling when it was installed. Hence the weird entrance. Bloody annoying, trust me.”

“Oh?” Never let it be said that Severus would miss the chance to gain blackmail material; nor would he fail to sniff it out like a bloodhound.

“She offered to let me stay in her toilet with her if I died.” And for all the seriousness of their endeavour, that statement deserved the laugh that it earned.

 

 

Entering the aforementioned bathroom, it was blissfully and unusually quiet. Perhaps Myrtle was actually somewhere else for once. Taking advantage of the fact whilst they still could, Harry was quick to head towards the bank of sinks and hiss,

 ** _₰ Open ₰_** Severus raised his wand, startled, as the sink began to detract. Harry resisted the urge to snicker at him. Battle instincts honestly shouldn’t be scoffed at, but it was still amusing when smeone as typically unflappable as Severus was anywhere close to surprised.

“Are there no stairs?” Of course that was his first comment on the chute, slimy and stinking as it was.

“No- Actually, I’m not sure. ₰ **_Stairs_** ₰ " And it worked, with a grinding of ancient granite, the slide extended to be higher, with fairly even steps. At least now they would be able to walk without hunching over terribly.

 

 

“Age before beauty,” Harry offered, gesturing grandly with a wide smirk. Severus returned the snide expression,

“And pearl before swine.”

“Pearl? You’re literally dressed in all black. How is that like a ‘pearl’?” Harry demanded, teasing. But he was only talking to the top of the elder’s head. With a sigh, because he had definitely lost that verbal bout, dammit, Harry headed in after him, trying not to slip on the admittedly still-slimy surface.

 

 

Having passed through the ante-chambers, Harry now led as they came into the Chamber proper. And thus didn’t realise that Severus had frozen upon seeing the Basilisk.

“Harry…”

“Hm…” But looking back to Severus shocked him; the man was utterly horrified.

“You cannot- Albus- You were _twelve_.” Not quite grasping what had the man so distressed, Harry shrugged,

“And?”

 _“And_ you could have died! Should have died! That must be 60 feet long at least – how didn’t it kill you?!”

“I was lucky and I had Fawkes.” Harry wasn’t quite so flippant now, seeing just how worked-up Severus was, how pale and enraged and somehow sad the elder was.

“Oh yes, reliable luck and a fucking bird! Truly brilliant! So likely to keep you alive and safe and sane. Is it any wonder you’re so fucking self-sacrificing when he’s been manipulating you so all this time? I never thought I’d say it but thank Merlin the fool is dead, if only for this!” And the young man could only watch on as the Potions Master began pacing, ranting and raving, nigh-on frothing at the mouth.

 

 

“Uhm, Severus, not to interrupt, but we need to start collecting fangs.”

“Fangs! Bloody fangs, like the one you got in the arm, oh yes…” As he dissolved into furious mutterings once more, Harry simply shook his head in exasperation and turned to start pulling fangs free. They only had so long to get this done after all.

 

 

"Up to the Entrance Hall?" After Severus had calmed down and they had collected everything they needed, the two had headed back up to Myrtle’s bathroom. Hence the imminent change in location.

"Indeed." And the two headed off, enjoying the quietness of the warm stone walls. Knowing Hogwarts herself would keep any portraits quiet about their presence, they didn't worry about Disillusionments or Harry's Invisibility Cloak, although the latter was tucked into a satchel.

“Shall we begin?”

“Let’s.” And so they did.

 

 

Starting the chant in a low, carrying tone, Harry held out his hands at chest-height, palms-up and open.

 **“Qui proximus esset ostende concubia nocte** **-”** Severus placed sprigs of Black Limba, Cherry  and Beech in his hands, coating them in a layer of crushed Snallygaster talons,

 **“-dona mihi, et Scientia, et quid ibi non inveniam – ego abs te postulo, et veneficiis est usa ab animabus stellarum, et** **.”** The sprigs burst into purple flames, as hot and vibrant as a city aflame, even though they didn’t scorch his skin. The violet fire danced and spiralled, the edges curling into transient runes. Beyond the haze of heat and magic, Harry could just make out Severus furiously recording each symbol in turn. If he missed a single one, or Harry’s magic gave in, the spell would be incomplete and would likely lead them nowhere.

 

 

It took a full minute of this before the violet flame paled, bleaching to a mauve, a lavender and then ivory, proceeding to dwindle away into smoke. That should be everything now.

“A-” His voice cracked and fractured. Taking the proffered glass of water and draining it, Harry coughed a little then tried again,

“Alright? Got everything?”

“I do believe so. Yourself?”

“Fine, just scratchy. Wouldn’t want to cast it more than two or three times in any period of time though.”

“Rather. We shall have to make it count then, won’t we?” And they shared a vicious smirk.

 

 

“Right. So: runes. It was in Elder Futhark, thank Merlin, so what we’ve got is this.” Looking over it for a good few minutes together, debating and ascertaining, they finally had a complete manuscript.

_chamb'r of cometh and wend - strength of c'rrupt soul in a piece silv'r-wrought_

_\- strength of passage boundary-past_

_\- strength of curs'd metal and stone-star_

_\- strength of mirr'r yond's abs'rb'd ev'ry drop of sorrow_

_chamb'r of the eldest eld'r - strength of c'rrupt soul in a stone of death's art_

_\- fad'd strength of c'rrupt soul in a tome of hath passed spirit's living_

_chamb'r of dungeons deepest, longeth unus'd - strength of accurs'd phial_

_half-height of the tallest toweth'r - strength of bastard creature's part-cast remains_

 

 

Fortunately, most of these were fairly easy to decipher. And knowing which were Horcruxes was even easier. After all ‘corrupt soul’ was fairly self-explanatory. Hence their conclusion that there were only three, one in the ‘Come And Go’ room, which Harry knew was the elves’ name for the Room of Requirement, and the other two in the Headmistress’ chambers – likely a hangover from Dumbledore. Well, definitely so, considering that they knew the Diary was still in there and that had undoubtedly been a Horcrux. They hardly needed the spell’s confirmation for that.

 

 

“Well then, shall we continue?” Harry nodded resolutely,

“Room of Requirement first?”

“Sounds sensible.”

 

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

 

 

**Qui proximus esset ostende concubia nocte - dona mihi, et Scientia, et quid ibi non inveniam – ego abs te postulo, et veneficiis est usa ab animabus stellarum, et**

Show me those that would be closest to the depth of night - and grant me the knowledge of where and what I would find - I deman of you by the magicks and souls and stars

(The incantation for the  **Iubeo Invenire** ritual/ locator spell)

 

Snallygasters are an XXXX-rated creature known for possessing a highly curious nature.

 

 

Black Limba Wood - good for scrying, able to journey between light energy and darker, helps a user become aligned with their darker nature and Magicks, highly intuitive

Cherry Wood - used in rituals to strengthen and stabilise, good for divination, detection and deduction, used in hunting magic and for amplifying spellwork

Beech Wood - used in magic of divination, encourages aspiration, desire and victory, often used with old wisdom and magical research, associated with Nordic runes such as Elder Futhark 

 

 

Cᚺᚨᛗᛒᚱ ᛟᚠ ᚲᛟᛗᛖᛏᚺ ᚨᚾᛞ ᚹᛖᚾᛞ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚱᚱᚢᛈᛏ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᚾ ᚨ ᛈᛁᛖᚲᛖ ᛋᛁᛚᚹᚱ-ᚹᚱᛟᚢᚷᚺᛏ

                                         - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᛈᚨᛋᛋᚨᚷᛖ ᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞᚨᚱᛃ-ᛈᚨᛋᛏ

                                         - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚢᚱᛋᛞ ᛗᛖᛏᚨᛚ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛋᛏᛟᚾᛖ-ᛋᛏᚨᚱ

                                         - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᛗᛁᚱᚱᚱ ᛃᛟᚾᛞᛋ ᚨᛒᛋᚱᛒᛞ ᛖᚹᚱᛃ ᛞᚱᛟᛈ ᛟᚠ ᛋᛟᚱᚱᛟᚹ

ᚲᚺᚨᛗᛒᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛖᛚᛞᛖᛋᛏ ᛖᛚᛞᚱ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚱᚱᚢᛈᛏ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᚾ ᚨ ᛋᛏᛟᚾᛖ ᛟᚠ ᛞᛖᚨᛏᚺᛋ ᚨᚱᛏ

                                           - ᚠᚨᛞᛞ ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚱᚱᚢᛈᛏ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᚾ ᚨ ᛏᛟᛗᛖ ᛟᚠ ᚺᚨᛏᚺ ᛈᚨᛋᛋᛖᛞ ᛋᛈᛁᚱᛁᛏᛋ ᛚᛁᚹᛁᚾᚷ

ᚲᚺᚨᛗᛒᚱ ᛟᚠ ᛞᚢᚾᚷᛖᛟᚾᛋ ᛞᛖᛖᛈᛖᛋᛏ, ᛚᛟᚾᚷᛖᛏᚺ ᚢᚾᚢᛋᛞ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᚨᚲᚲᚢᚱᛋᛞ ᛈᚺᛁᚨᛚ

ᚺᚨᛚᚠ-ᚺᛖᛁᚷᚺᛏ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛏᚨᛚᛚᛖᛋᛏ ᛏᛟᚹᛖᛏᚺ'ᚱ - ᛋᛏᚱᛖᚾᚷᛏᚺ ᛟᚠ ᛒᚨᛋᛏᚨᚱᛞ ᚲᚱᛖᚨᛏᚢᚱᛖ'ᛋ ᛈᚨᚱᛏ-ᚲᚨᛋᛏ ᚱᛖᛗᚨᛁᚾᛋ

 

 

chamb'r of cometh and wend - strength of c'rrupt soul in a piece silv'r-wrought

                                         - strength of passage boundary-past

                                         - strength of curs'd metal and stone-star

                                         - strength of mirr'r yond's abs'rb'd ev'ry drop of sorrow

chamb'r of the eldest eld'r - strength of c'rrupt soul in a stone of death's art

                                           - fad'd strength of c'rrupt soul in a tome of hath passed spirit's living

chamb'r of dungeons deepest, longeth unus'd - strength of accurs'd phial

half-height of the tallest toweth'r - strength of bastard creature's part-cast remains

 

The Come and Go Room - strength of corrupt soul in a piece silver-wrought

                                         - strength of passage boundary-past

                                         - strength of cursed metal and stone-star

                                         - strength of mirror that's absorbed every tear

The Highest Teacher's room - strength of corrupt soul in a stone of Death's art

An abandoned classroom in the deepest part of the dungeons - strength of accursed phial

A room half-way up the Astronomy Tower - strength of bastard creature's part-cast remains

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I didn't plan on Severus going off on one, but his temper apparently rules both of us, so there you go!
> 
> A second note: the Basilisk's size. In the books, she is stated to be something along the lines of 'at least twenty feet long', but in the films that is instead 'sixty feet'. Despite my overarching preferences for books over films, I've used the latter purely for effect - hope nobody minds!
> 
> And I'll be honest, I probably cheated a little with the runes? I deliberately used Elder Futhark as I know it's an old European alphabet, but then I simply used a translator (after first translating modern English to Shakespearean - Olde English was a pain so like nah). But, quite frankly, I was doing this as two in the morning and I had school the next day/that day so I probably should have just left it but I was determined to finish this chapter first! Hence the laziness. So sorry about that! Therefore, this chapter is sarcastically dedicated to lingojam.com for being my... beta? Proofreader? Well, translator, I suppose. That should have been obvious really, huh?
> 
> Anyway! I'll stop rambling now, thank you all for reading and hopefully enjoying, and I'll talk to you all soon!  
> Ota - xxx *hugs*


	35. Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Horcruxes are within reach. Now to grasp ahold of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year all - hope it was even better than your last! Hugs, Ota. Xxxx

 

Pacing opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, Harry rolled his wand between his fingertips, caressing the wood and learning the groove and polish as though he’d never touched it before. It was undeniably a developing nervous tick. But then the familiar large double doors materialised and he had no more time to contemplate or distract himself, as both of them stepped forward to grasp a door handle each by tacit agreement. And they threw them open to reveal-

 

A tonne of junk. Piles and stacks and haphazard towers of everything imaginable. From furniture, broken or luxurious, and every combination of in-between possible, to stationary: shattered ink pots, snapped quills and reams of parchments. From memorabilia, Quidditch team posters or gloves and Muggle snow globes; to accessories: barrettes and bracelets and even bone-carved piercings, oddly enough. The cavernous room was stuffed to the brim with _stuff._ Where were they supposed to start?

 

Asking as much, Harry turned to Severus.

“Well, if it the Horcrux is meant to be ‘silver-wrought’, then it should be made of silver, and ‘wrought’ suggests something fine and detailed, so probably jewellery or even an engraving, particularly considering that silver is quite a soft metal and rarely used for weaponry or the like.”

“Except in the case of werewolves,” Harry warned. The Potions Master inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“So, any useful spells on your end?”

“Not overly. They will be enchanted against Summoning or Scrying, for the most part. Our locator spell only worked thanks to the sheer volume of Dark magic it possesses. So I’m not overly certain.”

“What about focusing on the silver then? Worst ways, we could probably use a Point-Me for the material itself, couldn’t we?”

“We may have to.” And with that, Harry held his wand in the palm of his hand and incanted,

“ **Point Me** Cursed Silver.”

 

Immediately, his wand began to spin wildly, settling on a series of different positions.  Eyes narrowed, he tried to manipulate the magic a little, twisting and knotting it, bending it to his will. Come on, just-

“Give me some parchment.” Understanding the order was a thoughtless one borne of concentration, Severus was quick to comply, Summoning the first blank roll he could and passing it wordlessly into Harry’s waiting hand. As his fingers closed around the scroll, clutching tightly, Severus watched in something approaching awe as stark lines began to etch across the surface that he could see between the younger’s grasp. It took well over a minute or two, but eventually Harry’s wand stopped oscillating and he slumped a little where he stood, sagging into the elder when he stepped closer in support.

“Ah, thanks. Now, to see if that worked.”

 

Judging by the map they now possessed it certainly had.

 

Studying the simplistic rendering of their surroundings, little irregular shapes making up the various piles, no borders given for the room itself – was it infinite or simply unnecessary? Severus wondered – and half a dozen brightly coloured dots illustrating what were doubtlessly the examples of the so-called ‘cursed silver’.

“Very good Harry. Do you need anything or shall we begin?”

“Let’s get on with it,” Harry replied as they began making their way towards the closest dot,  
“Hopefully those in Dumbeledore’s office - or McGonnagall’s, whatever - should be easier to grab.”

“I’m sure they will be, what with the far smaller search area.”

“True,” the younger wizard replied as they began to approach the pile supposedly containing the first item of ‘cursed silver’. Curiously, there was a faint green glow emanating from behind a large mirror.

“Want to bet that my magic is doing something weird again?”

“That would be a fool’s bet Harry.”

“Fair enough. Got those gloves?” Wordlessly, Severus pulled two pairs of Dragonhide gloves from his satchel, giving one set to Harry. Tugging them on, they took a side of the mirror each and levered it forward, tilting it just enough to be able to see whatever was glowing. Okay…

 

“Want to make another bet?”

“Another fool’s bet is no better than the first, brat.” Heaving a sigh, Harry nodded and they let the mirror settle back into its place. The Dark Lord Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin and psychotic mass murderer, would not be using a ghastly red and silver heart ornament, about thirty centimetres tall upon its stand, as a Horcrux, that was for sure. The man, monster, was far too proud for that. And honestly, who could blame him?

 

“Next one?”

“Indeed.” Tracing his finger in a cross over that particular green dot, the pervading shine faded out, both in reality and on their map, and they continued on their travels, headed deeper and deeper in amongst the trash and treasure. At least the second was fairly obvious, as it was a decadent quill set atop a pile of normal feathers, split down the shaft, its green aura sickly against the elegant vanes and barbs of the long feather, moulded so beautifully, tragically stunning thanks to its ruined shaft.

“I suppose it could be, but…”

“It doesn’t have the sense of a Horcrux, no.”

“Definitely not. Oh…” Harry suddenly groaned, a curious mixture of annoyed and glad,  
“And thinking about it, my scar always hurts around Voldie and his Horcruxes! And as it doesn’t really hurt right now, then this isn’t one.”

“Can you say so for sure?” Severus inquired sharply. The younger only nodded emphatically. Trusting this, the Potions Master simply began to walk off in the direction of the next dot. If Harry couldn’t sense anything from this one, then he would believe him. No questions or assurances needed. They would merely have to find the one that _did_ make his scar react. And indeed, after the fourth object had been located and found lacking, Harry and Severus were hunting down the fifth. And the pain had begun.

 

It was a throbbing resonance that echoed throughout Harry's entire being, harsh and deeper than bone, both in tone and pain, an agonising bass stronger, more all-encompassing than war drums, all centred around the blasted scar. His connection to Voldemort and the rest of his Horcruxes. How _lovely_. And it bloody hurt.

 

Unable to stop himself from hunching over a little, one hand pressed to his forehead in a vain attempt to block out the pervading sensation, Harry felt more than saw Severus come to stand before him, crouching a little and settling steady hands upon his shoulders, trying to meet his gaze.

“Alright? Brat?”

“Yeh,” he breathed, feeling the intensity of the pain ebbing somewhat and consequently straightening some,  
“Wasn’t expecting it, really.”

“We _were_ looking for, waiting for, the trigger.”

“Oh hush.” And the attempt at their usual banter was enough to drag his focus back to the task at hand.

 

“Hey, Severus, want to make a-”

“Fool’s bets, Harry. Now hush whilst I retrieve this,” he began, traversing the final fifteen or so metres to the glowing tiara,

“Hopefully once it’s within the wards of the bag, it should stop affecting you so.”

 

And indeed, as he carefully took ahold of the silver diadem, refusing to gasp in shock at either the apparent identity of the object – Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem, such arrogance – nor the almost visible aura of Darkest magic, corrosive and sickening, a metaphysical stench that clung to its surroundings like smoke and smog and fumes, all toxic and death-sick. It was truly horrifying, truly vile. And he shuddered, almost gagging, as he picked the greasy metal thing up and deposited it carefully in his satchel, already open on the floor beside him. As soon as he’d buckled the flap, he heard Harry exhale deeply in relief, apparently free from the pain that it had been causing him. Accordingly, upon turning to face the younger once more, he was stood up straight and waiting for Severus, a weary but still-victorious smile splitting up the harsher lines of his face into something softer, more his age. Severus allowed his lips to quirk in response.

 

Leaving the Room of Requirement, the two began making their way to the Headmistress’ office. With any degree of good luck, it would be their last stop.

“I wonder why that one seemed so much stronger.”

“Hm?”

“That Horcrux, the tiara-”

“Ravenclaw’s diadem.”

“-the _tiara_ , seemed so much more potent. It was stronger somehow.”

“Oh? Perhaps it took a larger section of His soul.”

“Maybe.” Neither of them truly had an explanation, but that was as good as any. And it shouldn’t matter soon anyway, once they were all destroyed. After all, with these three gone, and Harry’s, fingers crossed, soon to follow, that would be four Horcruxes gone. And Voldemort couldn’t have all that many more. According to their research and theorising, Voldemort would likely have created either four, seven or thirteen of the damnable things. Any more than thirteen was utterly unfeasible, even for somebody of the Dark Lord’s power and ambition; they’d read enough about the creation process to well know the long list of requirements and implications. And splitting your soul, separating it, too many times would only lead to death, the individual pieces becoming too small to be sustained, ironically enough. Honestly, even thirteen was probably stretching it too far. But this was Voldemort, so they didn’t dare underestimate Him. That had been done before, to great loss. They wouldn’t allow the repetition of old mistakes, not if they could help it.

 

“McGonagall gave you the password, didn’t she?” Harry suddenly thought to ask as they approached the grand gargoyle, grim as ever, guarding the familiar staircase.

“Indeed. _Amaryllis._ ”

“A flower, right? Can’t say I expected that.”

“I imagine it’s more about the symbolism than anything else,” Severus replied, as the staircase began to shift them upwards.

“I guess. Flower language.” It was more a statement than a question, despite the clear inquiry behind it.

“Presumably. Let’s see, Amaryllis… Yes: strength, pride, determination. It would be in-keeping.”

“Huh,” Harry muttered, taking a moment to lean against Severus’ back. He was tired.

“Only these two, then we’re done,” Severus reassured, clearly aware of the exhaustion washing through the shorter.

“Yep. Not long now.”

 

And it wasn’t. They were busy opening the drawers of a cabinet over at the back of the office, clearly one dedicated to Dumbledore’s more significant trinkets, judging by the concentration of them, in contrast to the otherwise simple but comfortable room, more inclined towards bookshelves and Chesterfield armchairs. Or in the case of those seats awaiting miscreants and possibly their parents, plain wooden chairs that nigh-on gave Harry splinters just to look at. Regardless, it took only a few minutes to liberate the drawers of one old diary, with a distinct circular tear straight through its centre, corroded at the edges like Harry’s own Basilisk scar and a chunky ring, triggering that same pain to start coursing through him again-

“Of course, I should have realised,” Severus breathed, gaze simultaneously horrified and something almost reverent, staring upon the Gaunt ring. The younger man forced his attention off of his own hurts and instead to the elder.

“What? Wait, wasn’t Dumbledore wearing this-”

“He was. It’s what truly killed the old coot. The fool! I- He-” Seeing that Severus was reaching apoplectic proportions of anger, Harry was quick to lay a restraining hand upon his bicep,

“We’ll have it destroyed tomorrow. So hurry up and grab it, okay? It’s triggering my scar-”

“Merlin, of course. My apologies,” Severus exhaled, abruptly moving to grab the putrid thing. Having deposited it in the satchel with the other two, he was quick to secure it shut and with that engage its dampening wards, feeling Harry sag in relief just behind him.

 

“All done. Shall we return home?”

“Please.” And so they did.

 

 

After dinner that evening, the two were quick to hide away in their room, huddling close together in amongst their blankets, Severus’ arm looped around the younger’s shoulders and the brat leaning heavily into him, half-asleep within seconds, a large book spread across their laps, anchoring the covers in place.

 

“Severus,” Harry smiled it more than he said it and it sent a jolt of something soft yet electric through his chest to hear his name said like that. Like it was sweet chocolate, to be savoured and coveted jealously; he said it with wide-open affection that was a hug in its own right, their shared warmth epitomised and given voice.

“Hm?” Came his noncommittal hum, turning a little to half-hide his face in amongst the wild strands of Harry’s hair, inhaling deeply and silently once he had nestled in a little, barely even realising that he was basically nuzzling the younger.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Brat.” And it wasn’t an answer, not on the surface, but it was an acknowledgement and a dismissal all in one. Harry didn’t need to be grateful. He wasn’t indebted to Severus. After all, he was the one who had chosen to devote himself to Harry and his survival. And their cause of course, but only because it was _their_ cause. Severus was a selfish man, ultimately, and he wasn’t ashamed of the fact. He was selfish to want Harry, to take every scrap he was offered, to be making himself so essential to the wizard. But he couldn’t help himself. Not now, if he truly ever could.

 

 

\------------------------------------

 

 

 **Four** – the number that _connects the mind/body/spirit with the terrestrial world_ ; symbolises safety and the need for _stability and strength_ with a basic foundation of core personal values and beliefs; calls for _a sacred space_ and sanctuary; the number can also signify ‘ _planting oneself’_ ; a highly cerebral number; capacity for focused will; a lack of convention; the inability to adapt; constructive, realistic, _traditional and cautious_.

 

 **Seven** – a holy number; a _magical_ number; a place between the _worlds of life and death_ ; refers to _completeness_ ; a scared number referring to wisdom; there are _seven capital sins_ , seven Catholic Sacraments, seven chakras; associated with divine perfection; the _sum of four (terrestrial world) and three (equilibrium, particularly spiritual);_ seven circles form the symbol ‘The Seed Of Life’;

 

 **Thirteen** – symbolic of _darkness, death_ and betrayal; death but followed by a _rebirth_ ; an omen of misfortune; ascension and awakening; Zeus was the thirteenth and _most powerful_ of the original Greek Gods; associated with _accomplishment_ ; facilitates _avid worship_ ; a precursor to total completion; there are thirteen steps to the Ancient Egyptian ‘ladder of eternity’, of which the last represents _the spiritual completion of the soul_.

 

 

Dumbledore left nothing to Harry and Severus regarding the Horcruxes - or if he did, it wasn't anything that was realised, making it a rather moot point. Hence them gradually discovering and theorising all of this information. They don't know how many Horcruxes there are, nor what they are, where they all are, what kind of protections there are and so on. However, they do have so very accurate guesses that are only awaiting confirmation - don't tell them!

 

 


	36. Piece By Piece; Second By Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some actual destruction - plus a little surprise.
> 
> (I kinda love Kreacher so here you go!)

 

The next morning, Harry and Severus awoke with weighted chests. And no, that isn’t a reference to how they were laying together, Severus flat on his back, one arm hanging off the bed, the other latched around a skinny waist, holding Harry in place from where he was draped chest to chest with the elder, head tucked into the crook of Severus’ neck, softly snoring against the warm skin there. But rather, it was a reference to the knowledge of today’s task.

 

They had two Horcruxes to destroy.

 

Regardless, they awoke to the intrusive racket of their alarm, both jolting in place, Harry flailing one arm until he smacked against his wand and shut off the blaring noise. Without much thought, he then proceeded to bury his face even further into Severus’ neck, grumbling under his breath, lips brushing against a pulse point.

“Come on brat. We’ve things to do today.” His grumbling only became louder and more comprehensible, but Harry still rolled himself to the edge of the bed, standing on sleep-weak legs. As soon as he’d stepped away, Severus dragged himself out as well, reaching to grab that horrific hair tie off of the bedside table and to get his hair out of his face, at least until they got near other people. He hated not having a dark curtain to hide behind when he might need it.

 

It was Harry’s turn to make breakfast and he’d set the Potions Master to chopping spring onions, mushrooms and the leftover gammon from two nights previous. In a frying pan, beaten eggs were already beginning to bake, becoming yet more fragrant with the addition of cheese and ham. The two worked in silent companionship, neither needing to speak, nor particularly wanting to. They weren’t dreading the day ahead of them per se, but anticipation in and of itself could hold just as much of a chokehold around their hearts and lungs. Hence their silence. Still, the atmosphere was comfortable for the time being, laced with contentment and a sleepy sort of energy, tranquil. Like a lake before a ship set sail; anticipatory but calm. Well, until Remus and Molly entered, chatting casually.

“Morning,” Harry called, carefully stepping to Severus’ right and attracting their attention so that he could take his hair down mostly unnoticed. Huh, he hadn’t realised the brat was quite so aware of that. Regardless.

 

“Remus, Molly.”

“Severus, Harry – the food smells wonderful as always!” As Harry set to brushing off the werewolf’s compliment and Molly moved to begin pulling out the crockery and cutlery, sending it flying into place with a few well-practiced charms, Severus slipped the hairband onto his wrist, tucked beneath his long sleeves, and promptly washed his hands once more before returning to dissecting – chopping, these weren't intended for a potion – the last of the ingredients. This done, he moved onto drinks. Very few people could make his coffee quite right after all, and neither of the room’s new occupants could. Not to mention that working was a safe way to avoid most conversational attempts. And right now there was little more desirable than not having to contribute to some inane endeavour to include him and be friendly. He had more important things to brood over this morning. Such as if there were any more precautions Harry and he could afford to take for tackling the Horcruxes. Honestly, it didn’t seem like there would be. Most of the strongest protections would interfere with the destruction itself and even risk actually trapping the escaping shard of dying soul. He couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of that. Being stuck with a half-spyrit of the Dark Lord… there were certainly preferable ways of spending his morning and that was far from one of them. For example, he could be drinking his coffee. Ah, he should probably pour some for Harry too. No milk, no sugar, as per usual.

“Brat,” he intoned, carefully sliding it along the counter to come to a stop beside the hob. The younger flashed him a grin, drained the entire thing, steaming hot, bitter and all, and sent it right back. Sighing in exasperation, he filled the mug yet again and this time carried it over, on his way to sit at the table.

“I’m not healing that.” Harry merely laughed, the impudent brat. Of course, his ridiculous magic had probably taken care of that for him.  Neither noticed Remus eyeing their interaction. Even if they had, there’s every chance they wouldn’t have cared. They were rather too distracted after all.

 

“So what do you two plan to do today? If you’re Duelling, I would be more than willing to participate as well. Keep up my skills.”

 

“Ah,” Harry glanced over at Severus, twisting a little in place to look over his shoulder, promptly flicking his eyes to Remus before returning to the food, “We’re going to be destroying some artefacts that the Dark Lord left at Hogwarts – they’re what we were collecting yesterday. On that note, the basement is strictly off-limits for today. No matter what you might hear. We’ll have some serious wards up, but still. Interrupting would be more dangerous, even if you think you’re going to help. And that’s a point; Severus, we must tell McGonagall that she needs to get some of the members to go after the things we didn’t grab. For that matter, they should probably go through the Room of Requirement to make sure there’s nothing else like that Vanishing Cabinet in there. I’d like to think Hogwarts would block their use, but even She isn’t infallible.”

“Very well. Perhaps next Meeting?”

“Too-”

“Good point. I shall-”

“Alright. Wait until after-”

“Indeed.” And with that everything was settled. Not to mention that Harry had easily diverted attention away from their dire warnings of trespassing into the basement today.

 

Within a minute of the ensuing silence, all bar the twins came clamouring into the room, laughing loudly, disrupting the oddly stagnant air.

“Who died?” Ginny asks, noticing the edge to the room.

“Nobody. This time,” Harry returns, a laugh in his voice. Only Severus notices the odd tension lining his form that simultaneously tells of relief and fear, even as Granger begins to half-heartedly scold him, despite the giggling that interrupted her own words. He suspects that she’s just glad to see Harry with some humour, even if it is morbid. And whilst he understands that, shares it even, it doesn’t prevent the little bubble of concern from rising through his chest.

 

Within a minute, everyone had settled at the table and begun to eat. Severus inhaled his own omelette, lush with ham, cheese and shallots, watching Harry to ensure the brat also ate properly. He’d need it. They had Horcruxes to destroy.

 

Accordingly, once breakfast had been devoured, Severus went to collect the heavily warded satchel of fangs and Horcruxes, Harry already headed down into the basement to begin putting away the few dummies that were out and ensuring that they were warded to the nines to keep them safe and separate from proceedings. They would put the additional protections in place once they were both in there and ready to set up. So, collecting the bag first, Severus was quick to make his way back down to the basement, shooting the twins a rather distracted glare upon passing. They simply grinned mischievously, which he carefully ignored. So long as they didn’t interfere. Then… Well, there’d be hell to pay at the very least.

“Brat. Is everything ready for the warding?” he demanded, surveying the bare room with a critical gaze. The only break from plain stone were the single chair and cabinet in the corner, the expanded inside of the latter doubtless holding their two medical dummies hostage.

“Yes. Shall we begin?” In lieu of answering, Severus set down the satchel in the centre of the room and drew his wand, already beginning to chant. To his credit, it only took Harry a split-second to follow suit, his voice and magic weaving into Severus’, combining and twisting and dancing unseen through the air. The individual strands of their power were no longer individual, instead blooming into one thick rope, eternal as an ouroboros, permeating the room coil by coil until the very air they breathed and the stone beneath their feet felt to be boiling and writhing, the energy ricocheting higher and higher, stronger and stronger with each word they incanted, the sheer pressure almost pushing them to their knees, immense and immeasurable and

then

it

snapped.

 

 

Within a fraction of a second, the heady magic was gone, leaving them to half-collapse against each other. Or rather, it snapped like a Muggle elastic band, stretched thin and vibrating with the pure energy, to the point where it breaks, flinging itself into place. And so the wards did, their combined magic compressing itself instantaneously into a barrier around the room, cutting off the stairs and digging into the walls around them, sinking into the floor like water through gravel, percolating through it, drowning it in pure magic. They both sighed in relief. Well, that was as good a start as any.

 

Taking a moment to collect themselves, Harry and Severus finally fully regained their feet, no longer leaning against each other for mutual support.  Eyeing the younger, Severus took in how he was somewhat out of breath but did not yet look overly tired per se. Good. Then he looked up and realised Harry was looking him over too, their eyes suddenly meeting. The green was stunning: so effervescent and dark and deep and clear, all at once. Oh, the paradox that was his brat.

"All's well?"

"Yep. Just gotta do the actual killing now." 

"Indeed," he snorted, amused by the slightly odd yet entirely accurate choice of phrasing. Harry quirked a half-smile at him in return, already reaching for the bag.

"Shall we destroy the ring or the tiara-"

"Diadem."

"-first?"

"Does it truly matter? They're both Horcruxes after a-" Severus was interrupted by a sudden _**pop**_ as Kreacher appeared before them, cowering yet with a sneer.

"What-"

"Filthy muddy-blood masters be's destroys Voldie's Porky-cruxes? Be destroying Master Reggie's locket too-sies? Killing what Master Reggie can not, could not? Master Reggie's precious destruction of not beings detroyeds. What poor, poor Kreacher cans not?"

 

"Kreacher..." Harry's voice was low and shockingly dangerous, as black and insidious as charcoal smoke.

"Oh yes, the muddy-blood master speaks to poor Kreacher."

"You tried to destroy a Horcrux? Your master Regulus had one?" Harry's tone still held that macabre note, but it had gentled around the edges, the caress of a killer before dealing their final blow.

"Yes-ns, yes-yes. Poor, poor Kreacher. Master Reggie's locket be being like Missy Bella's gobbinlet from great, terrible, wonderful, bad Voldie. Being like your Porky-cruxes."

"Where are they now?"

"Kreacher being having Master Reggie's locket. Gobby-gobby-goblins being having Missy Bella's. Filthy muddy-blood master being having otherings."

"The goblins?"

"In marble and bone and blood is being hiding Porky-crux, indeed, indeed."

"Marble, must be Gringotts. We'll definitely need to be going there then, even more than before..." Harry muttered, seemingly to himself, becoming lost in thought.

"Harry," Severus prompted,  
"The locket." The brat visibly startled, then his eyes sharpened, their vicious point aimed straight at the house elf.

"Kreacher, fetch the locket. Leave it next to this bag. Now; we'll be destroying it." Without even replying, Kreacher popped away again, returning within all of ten seconds or so.

"Muddy-blood masters being destroyings?"

"We will." And he was gone again, muddy brown eyes gleaming with a sheen of tears. Peculiar, mad thing. 

 

"So. There's another in the vault of 'Missy Bella'. Bellatrix?"

"It would seem so. And yes, we shall definitely be paying the goblins a visit within the week, if it was even in question to begin with." Harry hummed, eyeing up the chunky locket that had been deposited a metre or so from the satchel by Kreacher.

"He said it was a 'gobbinlet'. What the hell even is that?"

"I'm unsure. But he was hardly... eloquent or even overly coherent. It is possible that he twisted or changed the word."

"True. 'Gobbinlet'. It couldn't be one of the actual goblins. A goblet then? Although I'm pretty sure a bobbinet's a thing..." He fell silent and they both stood in thought for a short while, until Severus straightened, tapping one finger against his thigh in satisfied conclusion,

"A goblet. To be precise, Helga Hufflepuff's. The diadem is Rowena Ravenclaw's and, judging purely by appearance, that locket was once Salazar Slytherin's. And thus, Hufflepuff's goblet. Do you not agree?"

"Merlin... I do agree. How could I not? The arrogant prick."

"Quite."

 

They stood in rather stunned silence for a few minutes, neither overly aware of much but their own racing thoughts, swarming and agitated as a nest of wasps.

 

"We should get back on track."

"We should." And so they stepped forwards, donning their dragonhide gloves. Harry had yet to flinch at the pain of even a single Horcrux's presence, but the Potions Master had still observed how his lips were pursed, a few beads of sweat were beginning to jewel his brow and there was a slight narrow tension to his eyes that told of pain. His brat wasn't alright.

"If you would retrieve a fang. Make sure to open the correct part of the satchel." And it was indicative of that pain when Harry didn't protest his insinuated idiocy. The younger wasn't typically one to meekly comply in any situation. Still though, Severus couldn't entirely begrudge how that meant Harry was quick to pass him a fang, jagged and bloody at the base, smooth and lethally sharp coming down to its point. 

"Step back. Take the bag with you." His voice was deep and smooth, no inflection to make it a question or an order. Harry obeyed all the same; good. Hopefully this way, should any vengeful soul shards manifest, they'd be less likely to go after the brat, but instead after their direct assailant. In other words, Severus himself.

 

Tightening his grip on the icy links of ancient metal, he pressed his thumb carefully against the casing of the pendant itself, preventing it from opening. And as his own intentions solidified, sharpened, his blood-lust rising through his chest in a heady crest of wrathful heat, the locket began to writhe and twist, the chain began to snap in place, the free sections gouging into the floor and attempting to lacerate his hand through the enchanted gloves. The greasiness of its aura, its oily feel, began to thicken and smoulder and coalesce, bubbling up from the metal as though it was melting. And Severus stabbed. Stabbed it once, twice, thrice. And again.

"Severus-!"

"Hush." But the locket made no more sound, no more movement, only bled a spreading pool of viscous oil, like ink and blood and tar. It had made no sound, barring the nasty scraping of its chain against the stone floor, though now its stillness prevented even that. It certainly  _seemed_ dead.

"It's fine Severus. It's gone, it's not resonating any more."

"Good." He sat back on his haunches, allowing himself to relax for a moment, sighing,

"Very good."

"One down," Harry offered, stepping forward and setting an ungloved hand on his shoulder, gently nudging him to lean back a little, against the younger's legs, head settling against the side of Harry's thigh. Severus did so, both basking in the shared sensation. Only two more to go for now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why the Horcruxes are so unreactive and haven't been lashing out as much as in canon, then it is because of the wards Harry and Severus had in place, both on the satchel (which also works to prevent their link to Harry causing him pain, so long as the bag is closed) and now embedded in the basement itself. These wards include an element of magical dampening, which makes the Horcruxes almost dormant. When the locket could sense it was about to be destroyed thanks to Severus' rising intentions, it began to react, but it wasn't strong enough nor did it have early enough of a warning to really do anything. Hence the apparent weakness.
> 
>    
> Another 'if you're wondering' - I'd honestly forgotten about Kreacher completely. But hey, here you go. They don't trust him to cook for them, so they just leave 'cleaning' some of the remaining rooms to him. He doesn't often allow himself to be seen, which everyone just takes gratefully at face value because they don't really want to see the mad thing. I honestly kinda like him though, despite making him even madder than in the books (which I'm blaming on the death of Sirius).
> 
> I’ve tried to drag in some fluff, both to slow down the pace of the story (which I feel has been going too fast recently but meh) and also to help balance out the abundance of angst, what with the visions and Horcruxes and everything. Please let me know how you guys feel about the pacing - I'm really not too happy with it?  
>  Hope you’re all enjoying and thank you for your time! Love, Ota - xxx


End file.
